


Wise to be Cruel

by hedgehogtongues



Category: Glee
Genre: Alternate Universe - Brittana/Klaine Swap, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/F, Glee Season/Series 01, M/M, Pre-Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-24
Updated: 2021-02-21
Packaged: 2021-03-16 15:42:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 21
Words: 47,362
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28958874
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hedgehogtongues/pseuds/hedgehogtongues
Summary: Santana Lopez is the token lesbian at McKinley High School - bullied relentlessly, and relentlessly alone. On the other hand, Kurt Hummel is the bitchy cheerleader manwhore that bullies relentlessly and without guilt. They're both, unfortunately, in the same Glee club.Essentially just a rewrite of Season 1 with a Brittana/Klaine role swap.
Relationships: Blaine Anderson/Kurt Hummel, Quinn Fabray/Santana Lopez (unrequited)
Comments: 22
Kudos: 67





	1. Pilot

**Author's Note:**

> heyyyyyy :) this is my brittana/klaine swap au :) 
> 
> [this is what i was inspired by :D](https://lighteningpool.tumblr.com/tagged/brittana-klaine-au)
> 
> a few disclaimers: it's basically a season 1 rewrite so if you're here for brittana... imsorry..... brittana will come in the s2 rewrite... whenever that is hehe
> 
> warnings: typical Glee bully homophobia, slurs... if i missed anything else let me know :)

Santana honestly didn’t know what she expected to change over the summer. Sure, she was casually optimistic when she ended up walking through McKinley’s car park without even getting tossed in a dumpster so she was considering this a pretty small win. She even moved to open her locker without much fuss, until she spotted she-devil Quinn Fabray and her equally evil companion Kurt Hummel walking towards her, matching grins and ice sloshing over the sides of their Big Gulp slushie cups. 

“Fuck.” Santana moans at the sight of them, “Can I take off my jacket first?”

Quinn smiles, “Sure.”

Santana sighs and rests her flannel on the top of the lockers, “Okay. Go for it.”

Santana closes her eyes and braces for impact, before that hack of a Spanish teacher comes bumbling past, and gives Santana the impression that maybe she had just caught a break. For a moment, at least.

“Hey Quinn, just started reading your report on “ _ que hace el verano pasado _ ”, sounds great so far!” He chimed, as he walked straight past, “Oh! My star pupil,  _ ¿Qué onda  _ Santana?” 

“Just getting a warm welcome from my favourite two Cheerios.” Santana snarks, glaring at Quinn and Kurt.

Mr. Schue quirks his lips at the three of them, sounding off a quick, “That’s great!”, before scurrying away, a preppy little jacket thrown over his arm. Fuck, Santana hates him.

“Well, I wouldn’t call it warm, Santana.” Kurt smiles. Santana wants to wipe the grin off his face with a well placed uppercut she learnt from her time in Lima Heights, but she knew it’d end up with her polishing Ms. Sylvester’s trophy case with a toothbrush and dry cleaning her tracksuits one thread at a time. Damn the Cheerios’ immunity.

“Welcome back, dyke!” Ice cold slushie covers her face, making her gasp. Syrup seeps down her collar and into her t-shirt. The sound of plastic cups clatter on the newly cleaned linoleum floors. Kurt and Quinn must slip into the crowd of people, because they’re gone when Santana wipes the slush from around her eyes with a wet sigh. The crowd moves around her and the slushie cups, and Santana would never admit it aloud, but the ignorance hurt. There was a stupid hope that people would’ve changed over the summer, gotten over this bullshit, but she knew that this kind of relentless bullying is just typical for being McKinley High’s token lesbian. 

\---

Kurt loves being a Cheerio. He loves the power that comes from it. He likes walking down the hallway and watching people scramble out of his way. One time, a senior accidentally spilt his lunch on him in freshman year, and he went straight to Sue about it and the kid was placed on janitor work - for a whole month! It was kind of awesome. Kurt doesn’t even know if he graduated. He really could care less about the diets and the back hand-springs, because it’s all fluff for what he really loves - and that’s power. 

This power includes, as Puck puts it, “bullying dweebs”. The slushie machine that was installed earlier this year is one method of extreme torture that Kurt didn’t expect to get cleared - something about cruel and unusual punishment - but the footballers are apparently extremely beguiling when they want something, especially when they win their first game all season. He isn’t sure about it, but he won’t question it. 

Quinn hums softly to herself, “Do you think slushies actually hurt? Like, are they painful?”

“Not sure.” Kurt snorts, “Am not interested in checking either.”

“Hey guys!” Blaine bounds up to them, sidling up to Kurt with a big grin. As per the usual for all footballers, he wears his jersey proudly over the top of a black polo and blue jeans which makes Kurt hum appreciatively - nothing awfully preppy there. Not even a bowtie, but then again, Kurt made Blaine lock all of his bow ties in a storage container that is now stored underneath Kurt’s bed in freshman year. But, Kurt wouldn’t put it past him to buy more. “How was your summer, Quinn?”

“Hey Blaine,” Quinn smiles politely at him, “Nothing exciting. I volunteered at my church a few times, visited some fancy dinners with my parents… what about you?”

Blaine shrugs sheepishly, “Nothing, really. I made some brownies, um, my brother came down to visit. That was pretty fun, I think. Saw Kurt and some of the football guys.”

Kurt nods, “It was another summer, and now It’s just another semester.”

“Just another semester.” Blaine agrees, grinning.

\---

Rachel Berry deserves every single ounce of bullying she gets. Santana wants to take photos of her from long distances, put them on sasquatch hunting forums and tell people she found an extremely small Bigfoot dressed in her grandmother’s clothes. She wants to figure out a way to balance a bucket of cement on the door and have it fall on her - wet or otherwise. She wants to laugh at her after this and continue to sneer in her direction. Santana hates Rachel Berry and everything she has to offer. 

Santana didn’t speak at all to Rachel in freshman year, not a fucking word, but that doesn’t mean she didn’t hear Rachel  _ talking.  _ Rachel interrupts every lesson with inane personal trivia about herself. Rachel pointed out a mole on a random girl she had never met and asked if it was a cancer mole. Rachel started every sentence when they learnt about World War II with, “As a Jew,”. Sometimes, Santana would laugh at the comments Quinn and her legion of blonde sycophants would leave on her MySpace, at least until Santana gets another private message from a new account calling her an abomination. 

Regardless, Rachel Berry still sucks. What makes her even  _ worse _ is that she’s suddenly the lead of the Glee club that the chump Schue took over from the creep Ryerson. Santana was actually excited for a minute, and she knows how lame show choir is, but she likes singing, so sue her. What makes show choir “lame”, other than the obvious, is the fact that the lineup is currently a girl who stutters, a guy who can’t dance, black girl Santana doesn’t know the name of, and Berry, who just stormed out in a huff like this is America’s Next Top Model or some shit.

“I am  _ not  _ going to be the Rowland to Rachel’s Beyonce.” Santana snarks at Schue, who pinches at his brow with a frown. 

“Look, guys…”

“No, you look. This stupid club is the only thing stopping me from completely checking out the moment I step foot in this school. I’m not letting her get away with being a total selfish brat everytime she doesn’t get her way in something I  _ actually  _ care about..” 

Schue sighs, “I’ll talk to her.”

He walks out the door, shoulders a little tense, and once he’s gone, Santana groans loudly. Black-girl-who-she-doesn’t-know-the-name-of-yet comes out to pat her shoulder soothingly, “You took the words out of my mouth, Santana.”

Santana looks at her with a raised eyebrow, “Really?”

She kind of had the impression that everyone in this school either refused to admit she existed, or bothered her until she stopped. That and that they’re all classless morons who will be stuck washing her and her very beautiful wife’s delicates. Black girl who she doesn’t know the name of might actually pull through.

“And that Destiny’s Child reference? Classic.”

Santana scoffs, “I was just saying what everyone was thinking. Girl thinks she’s the main character of show choir or some shit…”

“S-someone needed to say it.” Stutter girl stutters out, “A-and it c-couldn’t be me, ‘cuz, well, t-the obvious.”

“Well then. Looks like we’re allies then.” Santana’s lips quirk up teasingly, “And, well, I wanted to be nice about it, but I honestly don’t remember any of your names. Sorry.”

\---

Rachel comes back, and she’s alone either. Santana honestly would’ve preferred if the homeless guy who barks at people at the public library walked onto the auditorium over fucking Finn Hudson. The guy’s a total douche, Santana knows this because he and his braindead friends nailed all the lawn furniture to her roof last year. Her dad didn’t even own a ladder. She had to scale up the side of the house like a fucking spider monkey to pull it all back down, and she doesn’t even know how they got her address. It was probably fucking Figgins. 

Schue and Rachel spend the entire start of practice cajoling Finn into a performance of some song from a movie she could give less of a damn about. Rachel dances around Finn in a way that even a blind man could see what exactly she wants from him. Mercedes puts it all to an end when she yells unexpectedly about being a background singer. 

“I ain’t no Kelly Rowland.” She bites.

“Twinning…” Santana murmurs, earning a wink from Mercedes. 

“Okay, look, Mercedes, it’s just one song.” Schue reasons.

Tina nods furiously and adds, “A-and we actually s-sound pretty g-good.”

Mercedes sighs, and slides back into position with a harsh-worded warning against Finn, which earns a smile from Will as they perform the song one more time. Santana just rolls her eyes and mimes shooting herself at Mercedes for the rest of the practice. She makes Mercedes giggle at least three times. The thought of actually making a new friend puts an unexpected warmth in her chest.

\--- 

“Finn joined Homo Explosion.” Puck announces on the bleachers, crowding Kurt and Blaine, previously huddling over a YouTube video on Blaine’s new iPhone… Look, the screen’s bigger than his Blackberry, okay? Nothing untoward about it.

“What explosion?” Blaine asks, pausing the video abruptly, making Kurt frown.

“He joined that gay glee club!” Puck asserts, “You know, the club for gay people?”

Kurt squints his eyes, “You can’t catch gay from joining a club.”

“It happened to Elton John? Do you think he was always gay? No, he played the piano first, then he started liking dick.” Puck rubs his neck, obviously nervous by Kurt and Blaine’s combined stunned scrutiny, “That’s what my ma told me at least. Anyway, we’re going to hire paintball guns and fire them at him. You guys in?”

“Wouldn’t that hurt?” Blaine muses. 

“You are such a softie, man, you never do  _ anything _ fun.” 

Kurt agrees internally, Blaine’s idea of fun is one of those puzzles where every piece is essentially the same and trying to figure the placement based on shape alone. 

“Kurt? You’re in, though, right?”

Blaine looks at him dubiously, and Kurt completely understands with that look in his eyes, he’s pleading him not to, but Kurt’s resigned to admitting that Blaine’s warnings have a 25% effectiveness rating, and it’s not like he has anything to owe to Finn Hudson of all people. He’s… an annoying idiot. 

Kurt looks away and nods resolutely, “Sure.”

\--- 

“Alright, someone hold my earrings, I’m ‘bout go all Lima Heights on this bitch,” Santana snarls, pulling off her hoop earrings as Rachel squeals. 

“Just because you can’t get the steps right does not mean you have to get aggressive!”

“Oh, you want to see how aggressive I can get?” Santana spits, “Huh, hobbit? ‘Cause I will ends you.”

“This is a mess.” Artie mutters.

“Geez, calm down. Everyone, calm down!” Finn calls as he tumbles on stage, feet just barely managing not to trip over one another, “What the hell’s going on?”

“Finn, you’re here… I knew you’d come for me.” Rachel murmurs reverently. “Get her out of here. Santana, that is.”

Finn scratches his head, “Uh, I came for the club but…”

“Oh, look, it’s Prince Charming with the fucking two left feet!” 

“Look, I’m sorry.” Finn mutters, “I shouldn’t have quit. I don’t want to be that guy who drives around throwing eggs at people just ‘cause they’re a little different or… whatever.”

“Wait, you did that?” Rachel asks.

Santana snorts, “You and your friends threw pee balloons at me.”

“That… that wasn’t actually me…” Finn starts hesitantly, before actually showing some actual leadership skills that actually end up impressing Santana, at least a little bit. She always thought he was a figurehead quarterback who had a lot of brawn and not much brains. They end up covering some old song for white men from the 80s, but honestly, it didn’t phase her too much. She was actually enjoying it, but she’d never admit it to Finn, Rachel or Schue, who miraculously ended up staying to watch their performance and immediately taking his leadership back from Finn and Rachel - thank god. Santana shares a private smile with Mercedes, before staring at her white trainers, the smile still intact. 

Maybe she still has a little bit of hope for things to change. Maybe.

\---

“They were pretty good… the New Directions, that is.” Blaine mentions innocently after Quinn ran off to her car, probably going to stage a call with Finn and try to catch him lying so she can get mad at him. She’s particularly devious in a way that Kurt would hate to be on the opposite end of. 

Kurt hums, “You saw Quinn, Sue and I then.” 

“You saw me?”

“I could notice those curls anywhere.” Kurt ruffles them as they walk outside together, watching as the air curls the hairs around his fingers. 

Blaine hums quietly, “Do you ever think of joining? Together?”

“Why are you bringing this up?” Kurt frowns, pushing his hands back into his pockets, “I sing like a girl. You know that. I’d probably get laughed out of the country, or at least slushied ‘til my skin turned blue. So, no. I’m not.”

“You sound beautiful.” Blaine utters with complete sincerity, which honestly makes Kurt feel a little sick to acknowledge. 

Kurt laughs nervously, “You make it sound so gay.”

“Sorry.” Blaine mumbles, “But seriously, would you get upset if I auditioned?”

Kurt stops to look at him, a few steps in front, and knows Blaine’s being completely honest. He loves singing, Kurt knows this from the thousands of cover videos on Blaine’s laptop that he’s too scared to post online in case he gets found like Berry did. They sing together sometimes, small things in the safety of Blaine’s bedroom, where no one will bother them, or make fun of them for it. He has an image to maintain, they both do, and Kurt will do anything to keep them pristine.

So, with a sigh, Kurt keeps walking, “I don’t know.”


	2. Showmance

“ _ Buenos días _ , Santana!” Okay. Santana’s beginning to suspect Schue’s doing this on purpose. Luck is  _ not _ on her side this morning. Puck cornered her as she tried to walk past the dumpster, hunched down and not making eye contact with any of his cronies, and now is leaning threateningly into her space, grinning firmly as he waves innocently at Schue. The teacher walks off without as much as a goodbye, leaving Santana to her morning dumpster dive. Fuck, she hates this school. 

“Hold my jacket, bucktooth.” Santana takes off her jacket without much fuss, and also drops her bag at his feet. Bucktooth wears a blank expression, probably because he has no functioning brain cells outside of the act of tossing a ball to whoever’s dressed in red in front of him.

She side-eyes Puck, “You’re going to be stuck cleaning the gum off tables in McDonalds, you do know that right? I’m going to pay people to leave it there too.” 

At least the cafeteria ladies didn’t dump out their leftovers last night. Minor victories.

\---

“Kurt. You have to come to Celibacy Club today.” Quinn asserts firmly, boxing him in at his locker.

He purses his lips, “Can I bring Blaine?”

“You can bring Jacob Ben Israel for all I care, all I know is that the  _ troll _ Rachel Berry is coming with another pathetic attempt to distract Finn! I need your back-up.” Quinn hisses, looking disgusted at the thought of her. Kurt doesn’t blame her. Rachel Berry is a blight on good taste in most things. Kurt has many, many extensively thought-out fantasies of giving her bangs and de-grannyifying her wardrobe one piece at a time. 

“Whatever, I’m expecting a catfight though. I’m leaving if no one’s hair gets ripped out.” Kurt smirks at her, but Quinn doesn’t look back at him, just stares behind him with an ill, faraway look in her eye. “Hey, what’s up?”

Quinn shakes her head, “Nothing. I just… don’t want to lose Finn to someone who wears knee socks.”

“She sucks. You’re awesome. That’s all you’ve got to focus on.” Kurt smiles reassuringly, fist nudging at her shoulder encouragingly, “Just slushie her after second period tomorrow or something. That’s what I do when I hate someone  _ really  _ bad.”

\---

“Those skirts are crunchy toast! Jeanne Smith bent over in hers the other day, and I swear I could see her ovaries.” Puck gloats.

“You are disgusting.” Kurt pretends to gag on his finger.

Blaine makes a thoughtful noise, “I think it’s kind of messed up to look up girl’s skirts. They can’t really help that they’re… y’know, revealing. Isn’t it more gentlemanly to look away?”

“What are you, gay?” Puck spits, “God, you act like such a fag sometimes, Anderson.”

Kurt smacks the ball out of Puck’s hand, “At least Blaine’s gotten in her skirt, you still get stuck on trying to undo the belt on your pants in the locker room, you numbskull.”

“Not cool, dude.”

Kurt continues to stare unassumingly at his nails, “Whatever.”

\---

Kurt’s currently paired up with the apple of Noah’s eye, Jeanne Smith, who is very firmly trying to show her “interest” in the idea of the ‘Immaculate Affection’. Kurt has no idea where Quinn gets these stupid celibacy games, probably from some Bible camp where the counsellors are all related, but he seriously could care less. So far, no one has gotten hair pulled out or an eye gouged on Quinn’s delicate nails, so he’s lost interest completely. If it wasn’t the subtle pressure of Jeanne trying to push further onto him, he probably would’ve fallen asleep on his feet.

Jeanne tries to rest her hands on his biceps, “Do you work out?”

“I like to beat up old ladies in my free time.” Kurt replies dully.

She laughs softly, “You’re really funny. When my friends told me about you, you sounded like a total sophomore dork.”

“When Blaine told me about you, he said you sounded like a dying cat.”

“Did he? Because I don’t.” Jeanne looks upset. 

“I know a guy with a mohawk who would love you.” Kurt purses his lips, “He loves cats.”

“Puckerman?” She makes an exaggerated gagging noise. “No thanks. He rides his motorbike down my street and wakes up my Nan  _ all the time.  _ I’m not into bad boys.”

“Kurt is a total bad boy.” Blaine pipes up, scooting he and his partner across, still joined at the hip. Kurt recognizes the girl as some new freshman cheerleader, who wears foundation on her lips with a neat ponytail. He hates her on principle.

The subtle grinding of the balloon stops, “Really?”

“I think so.”

“But you look like my Nan’s dolls.”

“Sue calls you Porcelain!” The freshman pipes up. He hates that nickname, it makes him sound small and waifish. Fragile too, and that isn’t the truth. Not really.

Kurt grunts, before the sound of a pop, and then Rachel’s catty voice sounds from the otherside of the room, going on about hormones and how celibacy doesn’t work, and Kurt never thought he would say this, but he kind of wants to run up and kiss her. She’s taking the words straight out of his mouth. He looks at Quinn, who looks stunned, and a little mad. Okay, this must be where the hair-pulling starts. 

Nothing happens, Rachel storms out and Jacob (and Finn, to a degree, which makes Kurt feel ill) look a little bit dazed and hormonal at the door.

“Alright, I’m over this.” Kurt pinches the balloon between his nails until it pops, “Quinn, this was fun. Don’t invite me back unless something actually fun happens. Let’s go, Blaine.”

\---

Santana is going to puke. Out of disgust or nerves, she doesn’t even know. This stupid idea is offending her on almost every level of taste she has. It’s disgusting, and an obvious ploy by Rachel to get all up on Finn, but maybe this little display of messed up depravity might convince Schue to stop giving them whatever he pulled out his stupid vinyl cabinet and actually get invested in what they want to perform. 

Santana can only hope, and if she lives through this performance, maybe she’ll get some street cred and won’t miss another first period cleaning trash juice out of her hair. 

\---

“This is the stupidest idea you’ve ever had, Quinn, and I spent my damn lunch playing ‘Immaculate Affection’ and getting flirted with by a girl who doesn’t use mouthwash.” Kurt snarks, crossing his arms over his chest as he stares down Quinn’s pleading look. 

She sighs, “This is the only way I can keep an eye on Rachel.”

“God, Quinn,” Kurt rubs his neck, “You need to stop obsessing over her.”

“I think it’s a great idea.” Blaine pipes in innocently, as per usual, football jacket tugged over his chair. 

“You think it’s a good idea because you wanna join them in singing chipper little show tunes and getting persecuted by three-quarters of the student body like some sort of martyr of show choir.”

“I like to sing.” Blaine frowns, “We all do, and Quinn’s giving us a good reason to join.”

“Exactly.” Quinn affirms, “We all sing in our audition, we get in, I leash Rachel Berry to a chair in the back and if she gets near Finn, we all agree to spray her with water like a dog. I keep my boyfriend because of it. I think the idea is good.”

“Okay, here’s the dope, princess. One, I’m not going to sing show tunes with  _ you  _ or  _ Blaine  _ or Rachel Berry. Secondly, I’m not losing  _ my  _ street cred so I can protect your  _ boyfriend  _ Finn  _ fucking  _ Hudson.” Kurt huffs. 

“If you don’t want to sing, that’s fine. But you’re doing something. I’m not going in there alone.” Quinn grumbles.

Blaine pats Kurt’s shoulder, “Come on, you can just play the piano or dance or something. Quinn and I can sing  _ Islands in the Stream _ .” 

Quinn nods at Blaine, pleased with the idea, before turning her pleading eyes on Kurt, “Please, Kurt.”

There’s a nervous pounding in his chest that he doesn’t want to name, don’t they know how much he’s sacrificed to even get here? To be standing with them in this uniform? Do they even care- Of course not. They don’t look like a prudish milkmaid. Kurt sighs and rubs at his own shoulder soothingly.

“Fine.” Quinn squeals and hugs him excitedly, “But if they make me sing, I’m leaving.”

“Totally.” Her smile is cunning, and she looks off to the side, “Now, how do we convince Sue it’s not treason…”


	3. Acafellas

Santana is beginning to think there really is a God up there, but instead their entire aim is to make sure Santana’s life is as garbage as possible, because God must know that the daily dumpster divings weren't enough. So, of course Quinn and her twink crony join Glee club, and bring their stupid lap dog with them. Of course it’s just one more pretty white chick to fight with for solos. They storm in, and then Schue quits, and it’s immediately back to the Finn and Rachel show. Just a typical day in Glee club.

“Week 3 of Glee club and we’re already experiencing relationship drama. And it isn’t even with people I can root for.” Santana moans, leaning into Mercedes’ side. “Why couldn’t we just continue to attract the virgin theater nerds or something?”

Mercedes sighs, “It sounds kind of nice though. Being in a relationship… kissing…”

“You’re kidding me right? With those weirdos?” Santana makes a disgusted face, “It’s like watching Animal Planet. Rachel's a cat in heat and Quinn looks close to taking Finn’s sperm and then just eating him. Which, well… Maybe I wouldn’t mind watching.”

It’s obvious Mercedes wasn’t even listening to her though, when she asks, “Have you ever kissed somebody?”

“I’m pretty sure it should be obvious by now considering I got outed for being a sad lonely lesbian getting catfished by damn Azimio Adams of all people.” Santana sighs, “That’s a no by the way. What’s with you today? We shouldn’t even be worrying about relationships right now. We’re so much better than… all of them.” 

Mercedes smiles as Santana grabs her pinkie to lead her down the corridors till she reaches her class, not realizing that Kurt Hummel of all people scoops up her other side. 

\---

“She must like you.” Kurt mentions innocently.

Mercedes snorts, “Just because she’s a lesbian, it doesn’t mean she’s interested in me.”

“Mmm, well, she does seem a bit flirty.” He hums, “What would I know? It’s probably just me being presumptuous.”

Mercedes stays quiet, “Do you really think so?”

Kurt grins at Mercedes with his teeth showing, winking conspicuously at Quinn over his shoulder, “I think you should ask her.”

\---

Santana doesn’t hate this McKinley car wash idea. She gets to innocently check out other girls like any guy can and nobody is trying to run her out with a pitchfork or throwing a slushie on her face. It makes her feel normal, to a degree. Maybe one day she can get a girlfriend and check that one off the “things every regular teenager accomplishes in high school” checklist. Not that she keeps check or anything. That would be stupid and really, really obsessive. So, so obsessive.

As she lays on one of the complimentary lawn chairs laid out on the sidelines, she notices Mercedes and Kurt talking coyly over his massively overcompensating car. Sometimes, Mercedes would look over to Santana, and then back at Kurt. Now that is not suspicious or anything. After a few minutes, Mercedes’ shadow looms over her. 

“Hey Mercedes.” She greets.

“Uh, hey San.” She pulls up a lawn chair next to her. 

Santana makes a thoughtful noise, “Is there something going on between Kurt and you? Because, really, you could do a lot better.”

“Like you?” Mercedes asks, uncomfortable.

Santana sits up, stunned, heart beating in her chest, “What?”

“Kurt thinks you’re interested in me.” She mutters.

“That rat!” Santana spits, before grabbing Mercedes’ hand and patting it a few times, “Look, Mercy, I love you, really, you’re very fierce and yadda yadda yadda, but I kind of like somebody else already.”

“Oh.” Mercedes looks confused before turning to her abruptly, “Who do you like?”

Santana’s eyes creep towards Quinn’s direction worryingly fast, and Mercedes follows her gaze at the moment Rachel Berry pops up, turning her curious expression to completely stunned.

_“Rachel Berry?”_

This would only happen to Santana. 

“What, no! Fuck, no, wait… yes. Actually yes. I am deeply irrevocably in love with, ergh, Rachel Berry.” Santana sighs to herself, “I just know that her… relationship with Finn will keep us apart.”

“I…”

“Please don’t tell her.” Rachel would get the biggest head, for one. But it’s better than Quinn knowing, because Santana feels like she’d have bibles thrown at her face instead of slushies if the girl found out that the local lesbian wants to have sweet lady kisses with her. No, that really can’t happen.

“Is that why you always get so mad at her in Glee club?” Mercedes asks curiously, leaning into Santana’s personal space, “Like, pulling on pigtails of the girl you like?”

Santana frowns, “Uh, yep. That’s it.”

“Wow.” Mercedes breathes out.

Wow, indeed.

Fuck.

\---

“You turned down a date with Mavis Richards to come here?” Blaine giggles between kisses, Kurt alternating between quick pecks on his mouth and nibbling at his jaw with breathy laughter. “God, I feel like the prettiest girl at the prom.”

Kurt chuckles, “Don’t get a big head.”

“No… I won’t, wait, right there,” Blaine pushes Kurt to bite at the spot beneath his ear, his breathing becoming a little heavier at the pressure there. “So worth it.”

“Totally.”


	4. Preggers

Every second Sunday after church, Santana’s abuela will come to her house and tell her about all the different ways the world is, frankly, going to shit. She doesn’t use those words, but Santana knows what she means. Listening to her bitch about whatever she wants has been one of the building blocks of Santana’s entire personality. If she wasn’t a bitch because of being a lesbian, she’s sure she would’ve picked up a lot of tricks from her abuela. But, that doesn’t mean Santana agrees with her. She thinks Modern Family is for pansy, limp-wristed Democrats and that Sofia Vergara’s presence on it is her betraying every self-respecting Latina woman. 

She has to turn off the channel when the reruns play, the sight of the gay married couple on the show making her abuela roll her eyes and wave her hand until Santana changes the channel to The Simpsons. 

“Nobody wants to see that,” Her abuela spits, “It’s sad to see people put this stuff on TV now.”

Santana feels a little ill as she says, “Some people might want to see it, abuela.”

She shakes her head, “No, it’s like murder or rape. It’s wrong to make people watch that.”

“Did I tell you I joined Glee club?”

“Glee?”

“It's a show choir club. We sing and dance and... stuff. You should watch us sometime, we might have invitationals soon if we get enough people to compete.” Santana grabs her abuela’s hand tight, shaking it a bit between them on the couch.

Her abuela hums, “What kind of songs do you sing? Not that trash on the radio, right?”

“Oh.” They do. Actually. Fuck. “Sometimes, but I actually joined another club to sing in, the Celibacy Club. It’s a lot of Christian music, about staying celibate until marriage… and fighting teenage hormones… and stuff.”

“That sounds very good, Santana…” Her abuela nods her head and smiles, “I went to an all-girls school before I found boys and started running off after them. That kind of club would have proved useful for me, ha! And you joined that by yourself?”

“Oh.” Santana cringes, “Yeah, no, uh… My friend Quinn is the leader of it. She’s a Fabray, you know them, they’re the donors of the Lima Community Church. That’s the one you go to, right?”

“I do know her family!” Her abuela pats her hand reassuringly, “A little stuck up and cold, but they seem like good people. You’re really growing into a fine young woman, Santana, really.”

“Oh, thank you.”  _ The less you know, abuela…  _ Santana cringes. “It’s all your influence.”

She hums a little, “I certainly tried. You were always such a tomboyish girl, Santana. It’s good to see you singing and dancing like every other girl. I didn’t think you’d ever grow out of those damn cargo shorts.”

“They’re comfortable and they have big pockets.” Santana mutters, looking off to the side. Her abuela makes a wishy-washy noise, before changing the channel to those stupid afternoon dramas, as Santana cringes to herself. How the fuck is she going to convince Fabray to both let her near her stupid club, and lie to her abuela about being her friend? Good one, Lopez.

\---

“Fabray.” Santana’s going to be straight up, ironic of her to say, marching right to Quinn’s locker and planting her feet so she can’t weasel out. She’s getting in this club and she’s going to have something to show her abuela about what a good, bible-abiding daughter she is or die trying. 

Quinn glares at her, “Don’t talk to me in public.”

“Can it, Princess.” Santana leans in, “I need a favour.” 

“I don’t eat carpet, ask that chick who sued the school to join that stupid wrestling team or something.” 

“That’s really homophobic, but I’ll let it slide. I need to join the Celibacy Club.”

Quinn raises a delicate eyebrow, “Okay. You already have.”

“Shut up, don’t make a virgin joke at me.” 

“It’s not something you can try out for,” Quinn mutters, pulling her books one by one, locker very thoroughly organized, lacking photos or mementos besides a simple cross stuck to the door. God, she’s Christian-Christian. “Trust me, if I could veto members, I would have.”

“I need more than that.” Santana sighs, rubbing her neck, “I sort of, maybe had told my abuela I was… kind of friends with you. And that we sang songs about God or some shit.”

Quinn laughs immediately, “Why would you do that?”

“Look, she doesn’t know I’m a lesbian, okay?” Santana grumbles, “I want to make her proud of me. You get that, right?”

Quinn is quiet for a moment, staring at her fingers brushing the cover of her textbooks, before mumbling, “Yeah. I get that. Fine, Mrs. Pillsbury and I  _ do  _ like to perform at the local church sometimes, so you can join us next time.”

“Wait, seriously?” Santana grins, “Holy shit, I didn’t think this would actually work. Thanks, Fabray.”

“Whatever, don’t mention it.” Quinn shoves past her, “Seriously, don’t.”

\---

“Noah, you’re a great singer.” Blaine comments, sliding into Puck’s personal space, who’s currently tugging his shirt on over his head. “Like, really good.”

Puck grunts, “Who told you?”

Blaine laughs, “Nobody told me, I saw you at that Acafellas performance.”

“I’m a total stud, but that night was lame.” He smells his jersey, shrugs, before shoving it into his locker without much thought. “Why were you even there?”

“I didn’t have anything else to do, honestly.” Blaine explains, “But I think you should join Glee. I think we could probably convince Mike and Matt as well.”

“Mike? Matt?”

“Chang and Rutherford.”

“Oh, them. Yeah, well, no, my jazz hands days are long over.” Puck snorts, “I’m only using these fingers on my MILFs, and playing guitar to entertain my MILFs.”

Blaine scrunches his face up, “Just going to ignore that. But you play guitar, that’s awesome, you know, Glee could really use that. Finn can play the drums, Kurt can play the piano, I… play everything, but you know, I could always use a second guitarist.”

“You’re really not selling it to me, dude. But whatever.” Puck pauses for a moment, “Wait, Quinn’s in Glee, right?”

“Uh, yeah. Kurt too.”

“Huh.” Puck nods to himself, “Alright, see ya, Curly.” 

Puck leaves the locker room looking thoughtful, and for a moment, Blaine thinks he’s most definitely succeeded in gaining a new Glee member. 

“The hell did he want?” Kurt demands, staring at Blaine incredulously. Oh, Cheerios practice must have ended early, because Kurt still has that upper glean of sweat on his brow that usually gets washed off in the shower the moment he has the opportunity to. 

“I’m trying to convince him to join Glee.”

Kurt scoffs, “I don’t want to sit on the same chairs as him. He doesn’t use soap in the shower.”

“You’ve been looking at other guys?” Blaine smirks.

“Shut up, Blaine.” Kurt punches his arm, “You’re the one talking to him.”

He frowns, “I just want enough people to compete.” 

“You’re like a taller Rachel Berry, you know that?” Kurt notes, looking down at him thoughtfully.

“I think that’s the meanest thing someone’s ever called me. No, the meanest thing someone’s ever done to me. God, comparing me to Rachel Berry.” Blaine frowns, “And Sue once tried to call animal control on me because I hadn’t cut my hair over the summer in freshman year.”

“I don’t blame her, you had a literal bird’s nest.”

“It was cute.”

“No, it was awful, and an affront to good taste.”

\---

“Why didn’t you tell me you joined that show choir club of yours?” 

“How do you know I joined Glee club?” Kurt raises his eyebrow at his dad, cleaning his hand of the oils swiped across his palms, and then tossing the rag on the trolley. 

Burt chuckled bitterly, “I had to find out from Blaine.”

“Why do you guys talk when I’m not there?” Kurt asks dryly, “It’s  _ really  _ weird.”

“You didn’t tell me why you were gone! What else was I meant to do? You weren’t picking up the phone - the phone that I bought you by the way.” Burt snarks, before taking a long gulp of his black coffee, “Thought that cheerleading coach finally worked you to the bone and you were stuck in the hospital or something.”

“Well, I wasn’t overworked.” Kurt mumbles, before shoving his hands back into the engine just so he doesn’t have to look his dad in the eye. Maybe if they don’t make eye-contact he’ll drop the topic?

“You always loved singin’ as a kid though.” No. Apparently not. “Maybe it doesn’t surprise me much.”

“I don’t sing in Glee club, okay?” Kurt snaps, “I stand in the back, and I sway.”

“They not letting you sing?”

“I don’t want to sing.” Kurt scoffs, “I probably can’t sing anyway.”

“Now that’s just not true, heck, only two years ago you were wailing away in your room about Argentina,” Burt’s coffee makes a distinct slurp noise, “Don’t tell me your voice cracked or something and you can’t hit the notes.”

Kurt laughs bitterly, “That’ll never happen. I just don’t want to sing. Can you drop the subject so I can get on with my work?”

Burt puts his hands up sarcastically, “Go ahead, kid, you’ve been fiddling with the fuel pressure for the past 15 minutes though.”

Kurt just shoots a sharp glare at his father, before huffing and closing the engine. “Fine. I’m done. I’m making dinner.”

“Fine.” Burt has that expression that knows he’s won the argument and sufficiently pissed off Kurt. 

“And it’s going to be all-vegetarian!” He shouts from the other side of the room, hands on his hips before stomping off. 

\---

“You know, I’m very surprised you’re here tonight, Santana.” Ms. Pillsbury comments, for about the 30th time since she heard of Santana’s stupid plan. Why can’t she just call a spade a spade? “You’ve always been such a… unique student.”

Now that’s just teacher talk for ‘annoying’, but Santana keeps her face neutral. 

“And you even brought your own sheet music for your own song! That’s so lovely.” She claps to herself, and then waddles over to the organ, taking a seat before the congregation begins. Quinn slides up behind her, the feeling of her hand brushing against Santana’s waist makes her shiver.  _ Calm down, Santana, place of worship! Place of worship! _

“Do you see your abuela?” She whispers, as the priest begins to give his sermon in front of them. Quinn leans in a little closer to her to communicate better. Santana wants to brush her hand against Quinn’s and see how she reacts. 

Santana gulps, “In the red dress.”

“She’s beautiful.” Quinn admits demurely. 

“I know.” Santana faces her subtly, “Look, no matter how this night goes, I’m genuinely thankful that you’re actually helping me, Quinn.”

Quinn’s face turns pale, eyes meeting Santana’s openly, “It’s the least I could do for family.”

“Well, we’ll see how much family means tonight, I guess.”

Quinn fidgets nervously, as Santana moves to face her abuela, and waving at her shyly. “Coming out means a lot to you, right? You have to do it for the rest of your life… and people… people will always look at you differently, in ways you can’t really control.”

“Yep.” Santana agrees, “This will be the first time I’m actually telling someone because I want them to know… Doesn’t that suck? The other times I just sobbed it out like a baby or it got posted on Jacob’s blog.”

“I hope it goes well.” Quinn mumbles, before directing Santana’s eyes to a blonde, aging couple in white, upper-class clothing, “Those are my parents there.”

“They look snobbish.” Santana mutters, before looking back at Quinn apologetically, but instead she’s giggling to herself. 

Quinn nods furiously, “Oh, they are. They hate Finn just because his mom is raising him alone and they keep trying to push me onto Blaine just because his parents are rich.”

“That hobbit? No money in the world would be worth that.” Santana scoffs, “I could think of a few more reasons to hate Finn… you know, just saying.”

“He’s sweet.” She affirms to herself, “And he’s quarterback, so I like to blame the… weird things he says on too many knocks to the head.”

“You know, I’ve never thought of that. I’m almost inclined to give him a break from now on.”

Quinn smiles at her innocently, eyes full of mirth. When the priest introduces them, and all three of them move forward to the band equipment, Quinn begins to sing.

“ _ Why do birds suddenly appear, every time you are near _ ?”

Santana likes to think she’s singing just to her. Sometimes blue eyes flit over to meet Santana’s brown and there’s a teasing twinkle there that makes her wonder. But then she remembers she’s in a church, and would Quinn really be flirting with her in front of all of these people? Santana must be projecting. That has to be it. 

As the song ends, Quinn steps back from her microphone, alongside Emma, and Santana coughs to clear her throat delicately.

“Uh. Hey.” Santana’s face flushes immediately, “I don’t really go here, not since I was a kid, but I came today because I wanted to sing for all of you, but most importantly, I wanted to sing a song for my abuela from one of her favourite films. I remember you showing me this film when I was younger, completely tearing apart everything Alfie did, but always… shedding a tear at the end. You taught me to be a  _ good _ woman. You taught me to be independent and way, way too critical, but you also taught me to love, and to feel with your whole heart.”

Santana smiles self-consciously, “So, I’m going to sing “Alfie” for you all. Please enjoy it, especially you, abuela.”

\---

_ Santana skipped the bus home. She ended up getting home before she usually does anyway because she skipped seventh and eighth period. She just ran straight home, not stopping for a moment, not even when her shoelaces came undone, or when she almost tripped on a pebble. She wanted out. Why the fuck would she want to stay in a school that treat her like shit? _

_ She wished she never accepted that Facebook request. She wished she didn’t even acknowledge the messages. She was so stupid, and for what? Because she might actually find someone who’s going through the same shit she is? She was so stupid. She still is, for continuing to go to that school.  _

_ She bursts through the front door and scrambles up the stairs, curling herself around the bathroom sink and turning the tap on, lathering her hand in soap and rubbing desperately at her cheek. She catches her reflection in the mirror and it makes her feel nauseous. Her hair looks like shit, and her cheek is covered in black marker. _

_ ‘Dyke’. _

_ She’s so sick of hearing that word. That along with ‘lesbo’, ‘carpet muncher’, and for people who really just don’t care, ‘faggot’. She starts to cry as she notices nothing’s coming off. She’s going to be like this forever, isn’t she? Marked. _

_ “San?” Her mama asks. Her hand covers her cheek immediately, and tries to keep cool. Fuck, she forgot her mama came home early on Wednesdays. _

_ “H-hey, mama.” _

_ “What’s wrong?” Her mama takes a step forward, just for Santana to take one back. She frowns, “Show me.” _

_ Santana puts up an inelegant fight, but her mama just pulls her hand off without much fanfare, the word increasingly obvious despite all the soap and black smudging around it. _

_ “Oh, Santana.” _

_ Santana breaks. _

_ “I’m sorry, mama, I’m s-sorry.” She sobs out, “Let me pack my things first, please. I didn’t mean to-” _

_ “Don’t talk like that,” Her mama’s voice sounds tense, and she grabs Santana and pulls her into her arms, skinny but strong, while Santana sobs desperately into her shirt, “I love you, Santana. I love you, don’t ever forget that.” _

_ Santana wipes her eyes on the fabric on her shoulder, “I k-know you don’t want this.” _

_ “I want you as you are. If this is you, why wouldn’t I?” _

_ Her mama makes Santana face her, but eye contact is barely being made between the tears clouding both of their eyes.  _

_ “Soap will irritate your skin, let me get the baby oil.” Her mama pats her cheek gently, and helps Santana sit against the sink cabinet. “That isn’t a crying joke, by the way.” _

_ “Good.” Santana mumbles weakly, “I was feeling a little offended.” _

_ \---  _

“That was beautiful, Santana.” Her abuela says, after the Church has cleared out and they stand together in the car park. Her abuela offered a ride home, but she knows the offer won’t last long, so she declined. “You sing like an angel. My own nieta, my god. The genes are good.”

“Thank you.” Santana smiles to herself. “And I suppose, thank you, for providing them.”

“You have good friends, and a good life, Santana.” Her abuela comments innocently, “Quinn, and that redhead teacher seem very good.”

“They are, Abuela,” Santana takes a deep breath in, “But I have something to tell you.”

“What is it? You’re not pregnant are you? Because, you’re in the Celibacy Club, Santana, not the Promiscuity Club.”

“God, no.” Santana gives a weak smile, “Abuela, there’s an important part of me I haven’t told you, and I want you to know, because I love you. And… I want to share this part with you, and be completely open with you.”

“What is it?”

“Abuela… I love girls. Like, the way I should love boys.”

Her abuela stays silent, but her gaze turns from loving to cold and disappointed. 

“I know it’s not like, relevant-”

“I’ve never been more ashamed of you.”

Her heart sinks, and Santana’s body turns cold.

“What?” Santana asks, stunned, “Abuela, I’m still me.”

“You have a secret, Santana. You need to keep it secret for a reason.” Her abuela shakes her head, ashamed, “Do other people know this, Santana? Your parents, that Quinn girl?”

“Well, yeah…” Santana mumbles weakly, “They don’t care that I’m… like that. I’m more than that, abuela, and you know that too, deep down.”

“No, obviously, I don’t.” Her abuela pulls her car keys out and unlocks her car, obviously frustrated and upset, “I used to think you were so strong, Santana. So strong a-and self-confident. What happened?”

“I’m still like that.” Her voice breaks. 

“I’m sorry, but find your own way home, Santana.” She shakes her head, “Don’t expect any more visits, do not come to my house. I don’t want to see you.”

Her abuela pushes herself into her car, hands shaking with the keys as she tries to start the engine, and leaves Santana to numbly walk away as her abuela pulls out and drives off. The tears feel cool on her face in the night air, and a sob breaks out of her throat in the silence.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> songs stolen >:)  
> (they long to be) close to you - the carpenters  
> alfie - dionne warwick


	5. The Rhodes Not Taken

“She left you there in the carpark alone?” Her mama asks, stunned, before her eyes alight with rage, “What is wrong with her?”

“Don’t get mad at her.” Santana mumbles passively, “She can react however she wants.”

Mama stares at her, mouth agape, “I didn’t raise you like this.”

“That’s why you don’t buy your daughter G.I. Joe figures.”

“I did not mean raising you to be a lesbian!”

Her pop hums to himself, “That would’ve been my fault, actually.”

Santana stares at him.

“I think I bought them for you so I had an excuse to play with them.”

“Shut up, Luis.” Her mama scolds, “Santana, if somebody doesn’t accept you for being homosexual, you have every right to be upset.”

Santana scoffs, “I’ll keep that in mind next time the football kids at school throw a slushie in my face.”

“We need to pull you out of that school.” Her mama tells her firmly.

“And go where?” Her pop asks incredulously. Santana makes an agreeing noise, and points at her dad with a thumbs up.

“I-I don’t know yet.” Her mama says weakly, “...We’ll find somewhere that we can afford.”

Santana sighs, and slips out her chair, “Whatever. I’m going up to my room. Hit the roof with the broom if you need me.”

“I’m going to knock on your door like a civilized person, Santana.” Her mama fusses, “We’re not that poor.”

“I’m a doctor.” Her pop offers casually. 

Santana rolls her eyes as she clambers up the stairs, and flopping onto her bed. She thinks about her mama’s words. If the footballers didn’t have hands coincidentally the size of her neck, maybe she’d have more motivation to fight back. Sure, she tried for a bit in freshman year, after she was outed, but she couldn’t do more besides flop around out of their hands and see if her nails drew blood, which it never really did. She’d sit on the bus every afternoon, and comfort herself over the fact that she’s superior to every single one of them.

It doesn’t make her feel better any more.

\---

“Alright, I really don’t want to bring this up, but can we talk about the giant elephant in the room?” Santana shouts, hands on her hips.

“Your sexuality?”

“Okay, for that one, I’m putting Nair in your shampoo. I know where you keep it.”

“You wouldn’t.” Kurt glares.

“Try me!” 

And then Will takes five, and Santana’s beginning to think this may be the end of everyone’s foray into show choir.

\---

April Rhodes is a totally messed-up alcoholic drop-out who somehow sings like she’s on Broadway despite gargling whiskey like it’s mouthwash. She also saved Glee club, so Santana is a little bit impressed.

“So, you’re the local dyke, huh.”

Until she’s not.

“I prefer the term “lesbian”, but I will take what I can get at this rate.” Santana mutters, “God, you smell like a bar.”

“I prefer the term “whiskey quality inspector”, but I will take what I can get,” April winks at her, and sits down next to her, thermos in one hand and a bundle of magazines in the other. “Look, I have all of these magazines full of scantily-clad women, and no one to share them with.”

“I’m pretty sure Puckerman walked right past.”

April looks confused, and pushes them into Santana’s lap, “No, I meant you, silly.”

“Gross, no thanks.” Santana shoves them back into April’s arms, “Magazines like this are just made for the male gaze. I’m not taking them because, no offense, I really get nothing out of them.”

“You’re incredible, you know that, Santana?” April hums, “Well, want some Chablis? It’ll give you courage.”

Santana sighs. “You’re probably full of shit, but whatever.”

She takes a swig, and it burns her throat on the way down. April gleefully gives her the rest of the thermos and instructs her on how to use it effectively with all the expertise of someone who used to teethe on it as a child. Santana sighs, but listens carefully all the same. Anything to numb that feeling that she’s doing something wrong, she supposes. 

\---

“Okay, Santana, I know you don’t want to snitch on how you might have gotten the alcohol, I understand that alcohol use as a teenager is… an exclusive club you might want to be a part o-”

“It was April Rhodes.”

“Oh. That was easy.” Ms Pillsbury looks happy, steepling her fingers on the table pleasantly. “Thank you for telling me, Santana.”

“Can I go now?”

Ms Pillsbury hums to herself, “No, I’d actually like to talk to you about your feelings that led to you abusing alcohol.” 

She hands over a pamphlet that reads,  _ ‘So You Want To Major In Alcoholism? Pros & Cons!’,  _ and Santana scoffs at it.

“You know, it’s a funny story, but I actually really don’t like drinking now. It’s probably the feeling of the alcohol poisoning my body to such a degree that I actually had to eject the substance from my stomach, like the bile rising through my chest full of all kinds of shit, you know that shit that ended up on you-”

“Santana, wow, you know what I’ve just realized, I have an appointment to get to. It’s weird to just have remembered this, I’m sorry, I should go now…” Ms Pillsbury laughs good-naturedly, before shuffling hurriedly out of her office and down the corridor. Santana smiles to herself, and drops the pamphlet in the trash. 

\---

“Did April Rhodes offer you a blowjob?” Blaine asks, confused. 

“Woah, you too?” Puck grins, cuffing Blaine on the shoulder good-naturedly. “She’s enthusiastic man, that thing she does with her ton-”

“You know, Puck, you totally sound like a girl when you talk about sex like that.” Kurt points out, disgusted, “Don’t tell me you don’t just pump ‘em and dump ‘em.” 

“I… What?” Puck squints his eyes, “You do?”

“I thought you would’ve done it too, because you’re meant to be cool like Blaine and I, but you’re acting kind of clingy.” Kurt replies boredly, before looking at Blaine and giving him a desperate sign to back him up.

Blaine laughs nervously, “Uh, yeah. Kurt and I just… pump ‘em and dump ‘em… is that right? We do that. Don’t even think about them afterwards.”

“Totally.” Kurt smiles peacefully at Puck, before getting to his feet with Blaine tumbling with him out the door. 

“Kinda messed up.” Blaine whispers once they’ve left Puck, confused and a little forlorn in the choir room.

“To do what? Because I don’t feel any remorse for bullying the poor Puckasaurus.”

“To say that about the girls we’re with!”

“I just wanted Puck to shut up, don’t nag me about it.”

Blaine frowns, “Why not? It  _ was  _ messed up.”

“What, was I meant to tell him I turned down a blowjob? It’d be weird.” Kurt rolls his eyes, “I’m a guy.”

“I’m a guy too and I turned her down too.” Blaine scratches at his curls thoughtfully, “She was kinda pushy too. In a weird way.”

“She’s probably one of those freaks who peaked in high school and spends her entire life trying to get teenagers to adore her like they did 40 years ago.” Kurt rolls his eyes, “She’ll be out by the end of the day for trying to be God to a bunch of choir virgins and we’ll have Rachel crying to come back to us once she realizes Ryerson is still a total freak.”

“Just a regular day in show choir, huh?” Blaine laughs to himself.

Kurt looks around surreptitiously, before dragging Blaine’s arm around his own and pulling him down the corridor, “Basically, yeah. Now let’s see if we can convince the waitress at Breadstix you’re an orphan with cancer so they’ll give us a free meal.”

\---

April gets kicked out for being inappropriate and Rachel comes back to sing  _ Somebody to Love _ . Kurt smirks at Blaine, just for him to smile back, dizzyingly honest and sweet, to a degree that almost makes Kurt stumble over his own feet. 


	6. Throwdown

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> apologies to all vitamin D fans. that episode gets skipped purely because i have no clue what scenes would be worth even reading... oops?
> 
> also thank u to everyone who reads... i know this is probably a niche, self-indulgent fic but im thankful you're all here enjoying it anyway <3

For some reason, Sue’s now the co-director of Glee club. Unlike the other three quarters of the school, Santana is in the one quarter that doesn’t completely hate Sue. Sure, she’s an awful creature that regularly terrorizes the entire school to a degree that is almost felony-worthy. She also is completely ignorant to the bullying Santana has to deal with everyday, like most teachers, but unlike them, sometimes Sue will throw a chair at one of the footballers if they don’t shower after practice. Those are some of her favourite school days, so she gets a pass. 

Her first order of business? To split the Glee Club up into Sue’s Kids. Well, this’ll go well.

Sue gives a confident grin and clicks her tongue, “Alright, if I call your name, come over to the black, shiny thing.”

“That’s a piano, Sue.” Will explains, exasperated. 

“In your dreams, curly freak.” Sue spits, “Lesbian, Wheels, Asian, Other Asian, Barely Asian, Aretha, and Shaft. You are now a part of Sue’s Kids. Remember, I’m on your side, guys. I will not be implicit in the ignorance of the needs of minorities.”

“Sue, that’s over half my club!” Will shouts as he watches Santana, Artie, Tina, Mike, Blaine, Mercedes and Matt walk over, some in different states of confusion and others just looking insulted at being nicknamed. Santana, being one of them. She’s gone to this school for almost two years, and she’s more than just the lesbian. You know, she sings too - and she’s Latina! “You have to be kidding me!”

“I would never kid about this type of thing.” Sue states firmly, “Your bigotry against these kids is not my issue.”

Sue smiles charmingly, “And that’s how Sue C’s it.”

\---

“I don’t want to be split up.” Blaine pouts.

Sue’s gone out to get the band and sheet music, and Santana currently lies across Mercedes’ side casually. She’s got Mercedes, and Rachel is at least 30 feet away from her, so it’s almost like the best possible Glee club combination. Honestly, she wouldn’t mind Quinn back though. Just because she was nice to let her in the Celibacy Club, that’s all! She was nice for the one meeting Santana went to. It hadn’t lasted long - the cheerleaders were too concerned to talk anything sexual in front of her just in case she molested one of them so she stormed out in a huff. Slamming the door behind her didn’t even make her feel better. 

“Yeah, I kind of miss my other friends,” Mike tells the group quietly, “No offense, Matt.”

Matt just shrugs in response.

“I think this is a good thing.” Mercedes mumbles to herself, “Seriously, there’s no Rachel here to get mad at us for wanting to actually sing by ourselves. No forcing her songs on us to sway in the background to. We actually get to do songs we want to do now as well!”

“Mercedes is right, Sue’s kinda sticking her neck out for us right now, guys.” Santana nods in agreement, before wiggling her fingers happily with Mercedes. 

“She’s j-j-just trying to break up Glee c-club as p-p-per usual,” Tina points out, “She w-wants us to hate e-each other.”

“I really do not want to be around for whatever she’s got planned.” Artie mumbles into his lap. 

“Well, for me, I do not need Sue’s help to hate Rachel, Kurt, Puck and Finn.” Santana snarks, “That’s for damn sure.”

“What’s wrong with Kurt?” Blaine frowns, “And the rest of them, too.”

Santana laughs at Blaine, stunned, “I think you mean what’s right with them? Because it’s nothing! They’ve been treating me and everyone in this room like  _ shit  _ for years!”

“Kurt isn’t like that.” Blaine huffs.

“I know you follow him around like a starving dog, but you must be blind not to notice how much of a prick he is.”

“People like him, Quinn and Puck shouldn’t even be in Glee.” Mercedes mutters, “We finally find a place to be us and we still have to deal with getting bullied and pushed around. Not even mentioning Rachel, who completely ruins it sometimes.”

Blaine crosses his arms and scoffs, “I thought Glee was about acceptance, about opening yourself up to joy or whatever. You’re just as narrow-minded as everyone else apparently.”

“Can it, hobbit.” Santana snarks, “Once you have to deal with finding your backpack in the boy's urinal covered in piss, you can shut up about dealing with narrow-mindedness.”

“G-guys, can we calm d-d-down?” Tina squeaks, “We’re all m-m-minorities here. We all k-know narrow-mindedness.”

“Whatever.” Blaine shakes his head to himself, stands up with his backpack and storms out. Everyone stares at his back with slack jaws. Santana almost feels a little impressed for pissing off what is basically the human form of a golden retriever. Pat on the back for her.

“Well, ignoring why Curly Q left, because frankly, I don’t care.” Sue introduces herself plainly, “I brought in the brass boys and sheet music. How do you guys like Jill Scott to really stick it to how that tyrant Will Schuester treats you all?” 

Mercedes’ grin is sunny as she shares a fist bump with Santana, “Oh hell yeah!”

\---

“Finn’s c-cheating on me.” Quinn sobs out as she corners Kurt in the boy’s bathroom, making a senior stare shocked at the urinal, before rushing out after zipping up his jeans hurriedly. Kurt just raises an eyebrow.

“I don’t think you’re meant to be here, but okay.” Kurt turns off the tap. “Go to your car?”

“Please.” Quinn nods into his arm, as they walk out, bodies huddled close, until they slip into her car quietly. 

“How’s he cheating on you?”

“Isn’t it obvious?” Quinn stares at him, pleadingly, eyeliner running, “He’s always with stupid, ugly Rachel Berry, today he was telling me all about how I should be more like her and “oh, Quinn, she’s soooo caring and nice!”, like God, it’s obvious. How can he rub it in my face like that?”

Kurt cringes as she grabs his jacket sleeve to wipe her nose, but doesn’t say anything.

“She sucks. She sucks and I hate her.”

“She’s awful. You’re right.” Kurt acquiesces. 

“Why her, though?” Quinn starts to sob again, “God, I’d p-prefer if it Finn cheated on me with stupid Ms Pillsbury over her.”

Kurt laughs, “No, you wouldn’t.”

“Yes, I would.”

“You’d be so mad that Finn would choose someone older than you. With red hair.”

Quinn glares at him, but smiles a little from around his jacket sleeve. 

“Do you want the entire jacket or something?” Kurt asks, “Because you’ve just gone and stained it.” 

Quinn frowns, before hurriedly pulling down the rearview mirror to check her face, realizing quickly that her face looks smudged and swollen red from sobbing. The jacket doesn’t look much better, rubbed pink with blush and foundation. Her bottom lip quivers, while Kurt moves to take his jacket off and dump it in the back. 

As Quinn tries to find her makeup in her glove compartment, a gentle knock on the window next to Kurt’s head startles them both. He rolls down the window to see Blaine’s sheepish face. 

“I saw you guys walking to your car in football practice, and I don’t know if Tanaka will notice if I’m gone so, uh… is this the crying car?”

“Don’t call it that.” Quinn spits out harshly, but her voice is still a little frail. 

Blaine frowns, “Hey, what’s wrong? No judgment, I want to cry too.”

“Fine, get in the back.”

Blaine clambers into the back, sitting across from Quinn so he can squeeze her shoulder.

“Finn’s totally cheating on Quinn with Rachel, but only a little bit.” Kurt explains.

“No, not a little bit, like full-on.” Quinn starts sobbing again, “He will, at least, and leave me all alone for a stupid troll who’s shorter than me.”

“You’ve got us?” Blaine tries to comfort.

“Don’t insult me like that!”

“Hey, no, don’t cry, it was a joke.”

“It wasn’t even funny! Jokes are meant to be funny!”

“I’m sorry! At least you’re mad instead of crying.”

Quinn lets out a tiny sniffle, “You’re right, I feel better now.”

“Glad to help?”

“Why are you upset?” Quinn murmurs softly, voice still a little raspy from sobbing.

“Glee sucks and the people in it suck hard.”

“Oh, yeah. Glee’s in 30 minutes.” Kurt mentions lightly, “Are we going?”

“No!” Quinn and Blaine shout at the same time. 

Quinn fishes her car keys out of her pocket, “Let’s just ditch and go to Breadstix. I’m sick of this stupid school.”

“Wait, they’ll notice if we ditch, right?” Blaine asks, worried, picking at a loose thread on his jacket. “I don’t want it on my permanent record.”

“They… aren't going to record an absentee from one class on your…” Kurt looks confused, but Quinn scoffs, ignoring him. 

“So?” Quinn looks back at Blaine, eyebrow raised, “We won’t do anything anyway, this entire week is just going to be one stupid long fight between Sue and Schue. It won’t even matter if we’re gone.”

\---

“Well. The separation was fun for a while, I guess.” Santana sighs as the club congregates outside of the auditorium. This is probably the one time Rachel’s used her superpower of storming out and annoying the crap out of everyone she’s storming out on for good, so she can’t be too mad. Mike, Puck and Matt sit outside trading stories about the favourite times they got hit in the head with a football, or something, Kurt and Blaine are talking about whatever they talk about when they aren’t biting the heads off of pigeons and sucking out their entrails, and Rachel… is walking right up to her. Shit.

“Wait. Don’t speak yet. Let me begin this conversation with warning you that I have a microphone taped to my underboob, so if you say anything annoying to me, I’m going to use it as evidence in court to get a restraining order placed on you.” Santana warns as Rachel looks slightly confused.

“That’s not how restraining orders work. You need a real reason.”

“It is a real reason when your uncle’s a lawyer.”

Rachel just looks more confused, “My dad’s a lawyer too? Nevermind, I just wanted to tell you that I’m excited to be back in Glee club with you.”

“I’d say that feeling’s mutual but it isn’t. The idea of being in Glee with you again actually instead fills me with mutinous rage. It is terrifying how enraged I am right now.”

“Santana, you don’t have to play coy with me.”

“I don’t play coy with anything or anyone.” Santana squints her eyes, “My mama says it’ll give me an STD.”

“Santana, it’s okay. I get it.” Rachel smiles at her innocently, which makes Santana want to gouge her eyes out, but she ends up taking a step back, “I’ll see you tomorrow in Glee.”

She groans, “Don’t say that, it’s going to convince me to quit.”

\---

“I’m a little impressed that you bounced back from sobbing over your cheating boyfriend, to now being filled with rage over it, but I’m beginning to acknowledge it as the Fabray charm.” Kurt muses, as the two of them pile into the McKinley corridors, joining the crowds as they walk to seventh period together. 

Quinn smiles politely at the ground, “You know, Rachel Berry made me realize that I actually feel a lot of things that I simply need to express through song.”

“Your obsession with her both compels me, and exhausts me.” Kurt begins to slowly notice the multiple pairs of eyes on them following them as they walk, and raises an eyebrow, “Okay, did someone spread a rumour that we finally had sex or are we just really, really attractive today?”

“What?” Kurt notices Quinn’s face go pale. A pair of hulking figures muscle through the crowd, right past them. 

“Sup, MILF!”

“We getting Cheerio babies now?”

“Hi, Azimio. Hi, Karofsky. You know that for babies to be made, two people need to actually have sex? I know you have the general knowledge of a two year old who still needs help to use the toilet, but I thought you would’ve covered that already with your right hand and the internet, because, you know, the likelihood of either of you ever get five feet near a woman who actually likes you, let alone touching one intimately, is about zero.”

“Shut your face, Hummel.” Karofsky threatens, fist scrunched to and held near Kurt’s head, but as usual, the sight of the red on Kurt’s Cheerio outfit deters him. Kurt just gives him a smirk as Karofsky continues to stomp past with his shoulders hunched. 

Kurt laughs to himself, “This school’s rumour mill is  _ so  _ stupid. Can you imagine either of us having a child? We wouldn’t know the first place to start.”

The silence grows, and Kurt still feels Quinn beside him, but subdued, small. He looks at her, and she’s pale and taking shallow breaths.

“Hey, what’s wrong?” Kurt asks, “They’re just saying shit, don’t listen to them. I know you don’t want to have sex with me.”

Jacob Ben Israel pushes through the crowd in front of them, and has a nervous look on his face, like he’s walking to his death. 

“Sorry, Quinnie. Sue told me to run the story.” He then runs around them, staying far away from Quinn as he can. Kurt feels that sinking feeling in his stomach as he slowly looks down at her, jaw practically on the floor. 

“Quinn? What?” Her silence and pale face makes it all obvious. Oh, shit. “Wait, you’re…?”

“Can we just…” Quinn’s voice is raspy, barely above a whisper, “Can we find Finn r-right now? Please?”


	7. Mash-Up

“We’re done for.” Finn sulks, pushing his padding over his head dejectedly, with Blaine mirroring his movements.

Puck chimes in with, “Yep.” 

The three of them go silent. The rest of the team have since evacuated the locker rooms, a few quiet stragglers sticking around to throw their gear into their bag. Having football clashing with Glee is probably making half the team jump for joy, to throw it in their faces that their gay club will go under without them.  _ This school is so dumb,  _ Blaine thinks.

“I don’t want to quit Glee,” Blaine mumbles, “But if we quit football…”

“We’ll just be bigger targets than usual.” Finn finishes, before looking quietly at his feet. “I’m already getting my ass beat because I’m with Quinn. This sucks.”

“She’s the pregnant one,” Puck scoffs, “Why are you sitting here whining about your popularity?”

“Shut up, dude!” Finn spits out, “It’s hard on me too, especially when I apparently have my friends giving me shit for it too!”

“Whatever,” Puck mutters, “I got chicks to bone. This is like toddler babble to me.”

“What’s with this club and infighting?” Blaine mutters, “We’re meant to be friends or  _ something _ .”

Finn kicks at his football gear like a pouting child in a fight, while Puck stalks off with his chest pushed out. Blaine just sighs and plays with his jersey between his fingers. Kurt’s going to kill him.

\---

“Wait, what? What do you mean you’re going to stick with Glee?” Kurt asks, stunned, and a little enraged, sitting at his vanity with moisturizer on his hands. Blaine lays back on his bed, rolling his eyes and sighing.

“I like Glee.”

“I like chicken sandwiches, but I’m not going to quit every other food just to gorge myself on it.”

“That… is not at all relevant.” Blaine mutters, “I like to sing. Isn’t that enough? Can’t we let this go?”

“You have no clue how many strings I had to pull to get you onto that football team.”

Blaine sits up abruptly, “You can’t keep controlling what I do! It’s all, “Don’t wear that,” or “Eat this, Blaine!”. Why can’t I do something I want for a change?”

Kurt’s mouth is agape. 

“Why are you so obsessed with that stupid team anyway? I’m a running-back. I’m replaceable. I’m not even that good at football and we haven’t even won a game yet this season.”

He feels a little sick. Kurt is shocked that Blaine  _ really  _ doesn’t understand why he’s even on that team, and why Kurt pushed him into it so fervently. He doesn’t even know what to say.

“Blaine, I…” 

Blaine’s face crumples up, “I just wanna stay in Glee, okay? I’m actually doing something I like doing, and I don’t care if it makes you mad.”

“No, you can stay, we can talk,” Kurt wipes his hands on the paper towel, but Blaine’s already grabbing his bag and taking the stairs two at a time.

“No, look, Kurt, I’ll see you whenever.” Blaine spits, “Maybe with all that free-time you’ll have not hanging out with me, you can figure out why I’d want to do something I  _ love  _ over something I could honestly care less about.”

Kurt breathes in deeply, and feels his hands shake. He knows Blaine’s right, but he doesn’t want to give him the pleasure of knowing it. He sits down at his vanity, and stares at his reflection. If the boys at school knew he even had a vanity, he’d be dumpster diving every break period. 

“You and Blaine have a fight?” His dad asks from the top of the stairs, leaning down to peek through the gaps of the rail. 

“Just a disagreement.” He replies breathily. 

Burt hums, “Alright. Just, uh, keep it down. Deadliest Catch is on tonight.”

\---

Santana watches Quinn and Finn get slushied from the comfort of her locker, and honestly, feels a little smug about it. This is about as good as it gets when it isn’t Sue throwing chairs at the braindead jocks. As Finn rushes into the boy’s bathroom, followed by a few of the jeering crowd, Santana slips in behind Quinn, struggling to figure out how to squeeze the syrup out of her hair. 

“Well, at least it didn’t get in your eyes.” Santana smirks, pointing to the pair of dorky sunglasses on the sink. 

Quinn scoffs, “If you’re here to gloat, save it. I’m not in the mood.”

“You should be thankful I even turned up,” Santana shrugs, “I’m a pro at cleaning up slushie facials.”

Quinn doesn’t say anything, as she stares at the sink with a horrified expression. Sighing, Santana drops her backpack beside Quinn, and pulls out a dry hand towel as she hands it to the other girl gently.

She looks suspicious, before grabbing it gingerly and the wiping ice from her blonde hair.

“You probably think I’m a stupid s-slut. Who gets knocked up when they’re a teenager?” Quinn mumbles.

Santana purses her lips, “I don’t think that at all.”

“You should.”

“No, I really shouldn’t.” Santana replies quietly, before signalling to the hand towel softly, “Let me show you the  _ proper  _ technique.”

“I never knew there was a proper way to clean up slushie.” Quinn hands it back to her.

“You miss out a lot when you’re at the top.” Santana starts dabbing slowly at Quinn’s hairline, the other girl closing her eyes and breathing soundly. It’s the closest Santana’s ever been to another girl that wasn’t Mercedes, and it makes her a little nervous.

She swallows the lump in her throat, “I think that you’re a girl who… trusted a guy… and got burned for it.”

Quinn laughs softly to herself, “I think you’re just saying that to be nice.”

Santana makes a scornful noise, “No, I really think so. If that numbskull didn’t wear a condom, it’s his own damn fault. You just have to deal with it for the next eighteen years.”

The silence returns, as Santana slowly drags the towel over the curve of Quinn’s jaw, heart skipping a beat when she sighs to herself. 

“I always wondered if slushies hurt,” Quinn says suddenly, looking at Santana with a careful smile, “I now know they do, bad.”

“I’ve always wanted to open my jaw up and swallow the entire thing whole, like a python,” Santana muses, and Quinn laughs brightly at the joke, which makes her smile. “I’d like to get around to it one day.”

Santana takes a step and lets the towel drop across the basin hesitantly, like she doesn’t quite want to stop  _ touching _ , “You’re as dry as you’re going to get.”

“Thanks.” Quinn smiles gratefully, “I’ll have to ask Sue for another uniform, though.” 

“Good luck with that.” Santana replies dryly, before shoving the damp hand towel back in her bag. “Also, if Finn doesn’t come back to Glee, and we’re back down to having 11 members, I’m personally going to castrate him.”

“You don’t need a reason,” Quinn sighs wistfully, “But I’m not sure he will.”

“God. He is such a wimp.”

“Harsh review.”

Santana grumbles, “It’s true. Some people in this school care way too damn much about their status.”

Quinn stays silent, playing with her fingers, before nodding faintly, “You’re right.”

\---

They’re all waiting patiently in the choir room, packed in like sardines, with the only exception being Kurt. He’s sitting alone on one of the chairs in the back.

“You don’t want to check the time with us, Kurt?” Will asks good-naturedly.

“Nope.” Kurt sighs. He almost ditched completely. Totally isn’t worth watching Blaine waltz in with the swagger of someone who is completely destroying their own reputation and throwing it to the dogs afterwards. Everyone in this Glee club is. He only joined for Quinn anyway, and since she’s totally uncool now, he can just leave. He doesn’t even need to be here for Blaine. Why would he?

As the clock ticks by, moments pass until he hears squeals, and looks up to see Blaine hugging Quinn to his side, and grinning at the other few. Kurt looks back at his shoes. Blaine doesn’t even acknowledge him. 

\---

Finn comes up to Santana the next day with a slushie and a sheepish look. Mercedes and Rachel, who probably realized Finn would end up coming to Santana’s locker, are now staring shocked at him. 

“Well, I’m going to assume that isn’t a happy Thursday morning celebration slushie for moi.” Santana mutters. 

“Ok, you’re going too far now - you  _ cannot  _ slushie on my girl, San.” Mercedes snarls, glaring at him.

“He’s made his choice, apparently.” Rachel turns her nose at him.

Finn rubs at his shoulder with his free hand, “Look, I really don’t want to do it. You really like your clothes, and you kind of scare me, and I’m pretty sure you know where I live after Mr. Schue called my mom in that one time.” 

Santana doesn’t, but if that intimidates him, sure. “I know where you sleep too, and I’m very sneaky.”

“That’s… really messed up…” Finn looks frightened, but shakes his head, “But, if I don't do it, I’ll just continue to get shit on by everyone in the locker room. They’ll kick my ass.”

“God forbid,” Santana sighs, and pulls off her winter coat and shoves it in her locker. Mercedes looks confused, but jaw hits the floor when Santana grabs the cup from Finn.

“Look, I’m going to say this once and once only.” Santana stares Finn in the eye, “If you pull any of this shit again, this whole, “I’m going to dissent Glee because I’m a scared little boy completely afraid of a few smelly football players,” thing, I will kick your ass.”

Santana breathes in deep, closes her eyes, and throws the slushie on her face. 

“Fuck, I thought it’d feel better if I expected it.” Santana grunts, wiping the slush off her eyes with her hands, “Would those nimrods in football do that for you?”

Finn gapes at her uselessly, before Mercedes and Rachel practically yank her into the girl’s bathroom together, pulling out hand towels and dabbing at her nervously. This is good karma for helping Quinn, she supposes mildly.

\---

Blaine stops him on the way out from Glee. Everything’s a happy ending, Kurt supposes, the footballers get to fondle balls another day, and sing show tunes the next. Whatever, Kurt could do that in New York whenever he wants once he gets out of this stupid town. 

Blaine smiles at him, “I guess I’m sticking to football?”

“It's a pointless fight now, in retrospect.” Kurt acknowledges.

Blaine sighs, “Look, Kurt, I was really mad that day, for no reason. I don’t even mind that you tell me to eat healthy stuff. I’d probably just get pizza delivered every night if you didn’t, like, nag me all the time.” 

Kurt smiles bitterly, “You were right.”

“Huh?”

“I control you too much.” He sighs, “I know I do. You don’t need to downplay it.”

“I don’t mind it that much.” Blaine frowns.

“Don’t say that!” Kurt laughs, “Give me an inch and I’ll take a mile, I’m not joking. I made you join the football team for selfish reasons, I didn’t even think if you even liked football, really. I’m a shitty guy, you don’t need to sugarcoat it.”

“You don’t need a friend on the football team to get free tickets, Kurt, you’re a Cheerio.” 

Kurt frowns, “No, I know that, Blaine. I do. I just want you to know that if I’m forcing you to do something you don’t want to do, tell me you don’t want to do it. Don’t… Don’t just go with it because you don’t want me to be mad or something.”

Blaine smiles at him gently, “Kurt, I get your point, but I know I can say no, you know? I don’t even hate football. It’s not like… pulling teeth to make me go, or whatever.”

“Just...” Kurt sighs softly, hand hesitantly moving to Blaine’s shoulder to squeeze it gently. “Just know that, okay?”

“Fine. I will safeword when you force me against my will to make me eat your homemade coleslaw.”

Kurt hits his shoulder, “Don’t make it a sex thing! It’s not a sex thing!”

Blaine laughs, “Sorry, I know that. Can we go to your place now? Because talk of sex makes me… uh, hungry. Yeah, okay, let’s go with that.”

Kurt pretends to gag, before chuckling to himself, nodding his head and wrapping his fingers around Blaine’s football jersey, pulling him down the corridor. 


	8. Wheels

“I can’t believe we’re doing another show tune,” Mercedes grumbles, opening her locker, clearly frustrated, while Santana stares blankly at her nails. “Mr. Schue’s doing this on purpose.”

“Doing what on purpose?”

“Isn’t it obvious?” Mercedes sighs, “Every song we end up doing is every song Rachel would want to sing. It’s like if he started to talk about doing something like Whitney or Aretha, everyone would know it’s for me.”

Santana hums, smirking, before leaning her head into Mercedes’ locker slowly, “So, why don’t we give her a run for her money? We’re the most talented people in that club, hands down. We could do it.”

“What, like auditioning for that crap?” Mercedes sighs to herself, “Not my type of thing. If I get a solo at a competition, I’m not singing Rachel Berry’s song, I’m singing my own damn song.”

Santana shrugs, “That’s fine. More for me.”

Mercedes stares at her, mouth agape, “Seriously? You’re going to sing ‘Defying Gravity’?”

Santana smiles cheekily, shrugging her shoulders, “Sure.”

“Wow, you are the  _ weirdest  _ person when you have a crush.”

Santana's mood drops immediately. Oh, that.

\---

“Are you sure about not singing in Glee?” Blaine asks, head tilting to the side pleadingly to look at Kurt from the side, who stands with his arms crossed. It’s not often that football and Cheerios practice clash, Sue will often try to chase Tanaka and his boys away by yelling in their ears through the megaphone, but they’re just doing stretches for now, which usually draws Kurt and Blaine closer together.

Kurt glares at him, “I don’t know what would change my mind.”

“You love Wicked.” Blaine smiles, “And don’t tell me you don’t. I’ve seen the bootlegs on your laptop.”

Kurt rolls his eyes, “I told you to stop going through my stuff. But no, to your earlier question, just because I like something doesn’t mean I have to sing it.”

“But you could totally beat Rachel out for the solo.”

“If I sang ‘Defying Gravity’, people would think I’m gay, so no thanks.”

“Kurt…” Blaine frowns at him, but Kurt just turns his back on him.

“I’ve got stretches to do,” Kurt rolls his shoulders, “Now that Quinn’s gone, I’m going to be a total shoe-in for head cheerleader, which basically means ultimate power at this dump. I’m not giving that up for talking to you about this crap  _ again _ .”

Blaine’s eyes squint in the sun, as he watches Kurt wander back to the Cheerios with hunched shoulders. Sue slaps him between the shoulder blades and his spine goes ramrod straight. Blaine feels uneasy.

“What the hell are you doin’, Anderson! Watching grass grow? Get over here!”

“Coming, Coach!”

\---

“I want ‘Defying Gravity’.” Santana smirks, standing up to Schue, arms crossed and eyes fiery. Mercedes claps a little, as everyone else murmurs encouragement. 

He looks a little taken aback, “Well, I can’t just give it to you, that’d be unfair to Rachel, but you can audition for it if you really want it.”

“Hell no, I’m not auditioning because no matter what, you’re going to give it straight to Little Miss Perfect there,” Santana spits out, “I want it to be a competition.”

“Mr. Schue, you can’t let her do this.” Rachel’s voice screeches, “That’s my solo!”

“Can it, troll.” Santana snarks, “Listen, if you honestly think you can sing ‘Defying Gravity’ better than me, then it shouldn’t be a problem, should it?”

Schue shrugs, “She’s got a point, if you two had a competition and let the other kids judge, then it would be fairer for both of you.”

“It’ll be a popularity contest!” Rachel shouts, “They won’t even vote on who sang it better, they’ll just vote for who they want to win!”

Santana waves her arms to gain everyone’s attention, “Alright, listen up, all of my beautiful, beautiful Glee club peers, I know that I’m incredibly talented and wholly more appealing, interesting, funny, attractive and generally superior to Miss Rachel Berry here, but I want you all to vote who you genuinely think sings the stupid theater song better. So, repeat after me, ‘I promise to vote to whoever sings the song better.’”

They repeat after her, besides Mercedes, who cheekily smiles at Santana as she promises to vote for her. Santana smiles back, before turning the smile wicked as she glares at Rachel. 

“Bring it.” Santana taunts Rachel, before sitting down peacefully and leaning back in her chair. 

Schue clears his throat as he takes the floor, “Alright, now that’s over, I want to talk to you all about your disgraceful behaviour towards Artie last practice.”

Rachel continues to stare shocked, her expression a little betrayed for whatever reason, as Santana smirks for the rest of the lesson. 

\---

  
“What’s that song you’re singing?” Her pop asks, sitting down on Santana’s bed as she reads over the sheet music to ‘Defying Gravity’ passively.

“Just some dumb theater song,” Santana sighs, “I’m stealing it from the bitch who takes all the solos.”

“No maldigas, Santana,” He warns.

“Lo siento, Papá.” Santana rolls her eyes. “What’s up?”

“Can’t I see my daughter and be interested in her hobbies? Especially when she’s loud in her room?”

“It’s not me, it’s this stupid song. It’s all wailing.” Santana grumbles, “But it’s a competition solo, so I want it.”

“Competition solo? You’re performing this out in public?”

“Yep.”

Her pop frowns, “Well. I guess I should’ve known that.”

“Is there a problem with that?” Santana sighs, turning to him in her office chair. He looks a little nervous.

“Not much.” He sighs, “I worry about you.”

“Why?” Santana furrows her brow, “I’m not that bad.”

“You aren’t. The world is, though. I worry that the people around Lima, especially where we live, will hear of your orientation and…”

“Do you think doing this solo is bad because I might draw attention to myself?” Santana asks, incredulously.

“Not at all.” He shrugs, but then purses his lips, “A little.”

“I can’t just hide myself in the closet, pun not intended, and just refuse to live my life because of some homophobic idiots.”

“I don’t want you to hide.” He frowns. “I just want you to be safe.”

“This is so stupid.” Santana mutters, turning away from him and drawing her knees up to her chest. Her pop comes to rest a hand on her shoulder gently, dark skin saggy with wrinkles and firm and warm over her shirt. It’s a soothing touch, but it hurts. 

“Do the solo, if it makes you happy, Santana.” He states lightly, “Don’t listen to a cynical old man like me. Your mama’s bringing takeout for dinner, so you should be happier. At least I’m not cooking tonight.”

Santana doesn’t reply. She just furrows her face into her knees, and waits for the door to click shut to let tears seep out from her eyes. He knows he’s making a great point. She’s always been a relative wallflower, sarcastic and isolated, the only reason she's made any waves at McKinley was because she’s a lesbian. She was blending in easily, so she wasn’t targeted, at least, until that JBI news story. Lima Heights has never been relatively safe, and it isn’t unusual to hear of people being assaulted walking home for being gay, or just LGBT+ in general, in the newspapers the next morning. It’s dangerous to be who she is here, to draw attention to herself like this and make waves in public. She might not be treated well in McKinley, but at least she won’t get beat to a pulp and left for the rats overnight. If anyone caught wind of her sexuality here… well, the thought makes her shudder.

\---

“Welcome, everyone, to the first annual Diva-Off!” Schue introduces with a big grin, compelling Mercedes and Blaine to give excited whoops of encouragement. Santana smirks at everyone, and Rachel nervously walks up to take the stage. 

She takes in a big breath, “Okay. Please remember to vote for the  _ best. _ ”

The music begins, and as per usual, Rachel aces it with her typical Broadway flair. She sits down as Santana confidently struts to the front. Does she flub it? Of course fucking not. She’s Santana fucking Lopez. 

Schue steps up afterwards, clapping his hands together and then shoving them in his pockets.

“With a vote of 9-1… Santana wins the competition solo.” 

Rachel immediately gasps to herself, “I knew it would turn into a popularity contest!”

“Well, get over it, because I don’t want it.” Santana smirks. 

“What?” Rachel gasps.

“I don’t want the stupid solo.”

Schue looks confused, “Wait, Santana, why not?”

Santana stands up, and stands in front of Rachel with a gracious grin on her face, “Because I wanted to prove to you, troll, that I am just as good as you.”

Santana makes a sweeping motion to the rest of the Glee club with her arms, “And just know that if I’m just as good as you, how much you wanna bet that the rest of this club is also just as good as you? Because they are, princess. You might think that you’re destined for stardom since you were a fetus because your helicopter dads spent your entire childhood telling you could shit literal gold, but that means fuck all when you purposely treat the rest of this club like  _ garbage. _ ”

“I don’t treat any of you badly! Unlike you, who insults me before I even walk in the door!” Rachel tries to stand up, but Santana shoves her down.

“Did I give you the talking stick? No, I didn’t, so sit back down, midget. Listen, Rachel, I know you think you’re the main character, and we’re all simply here to give you something to talk about when you talk about bullies in your memoir, but just know that you  _ are _ the real bully. You are a rancid, terrible person who truly makes me believe that some people are just born awful. They are born completely void of any type of actual goodness in their hearts. And that’s you down to a T, right?”

“Santana, you’re being a total bitch right now. Cut it out.” Finn storms up to her, turning her around by the shoulder. 

Santana scoffs, “Oh, you’re going to actually step up and defend your side chick, when you can’t even get a job to support your actual girlfriend? Look, Finn, I know you have a total hard-on for the idea of getting it on with Rachel while your baby mama cries about swollen ankles back home, but you really have to open your eyes and come back down to reality - you know, that place you live in when you aren’t stuck in your pathetic porn fantasy? The reality where it’s obvious she is a complete drain of air?”

“That’s enough, Santana.” Schue warns, his voice going all hard and authoritative, as it does when he thinks he has any type of influence over Santana. 

“Why are you being so mean to me?” Rachel stands up, expression devastated with distinctly watery eyes, now that Santana’s thoroughly distracted, “I thought you were meant to have a crush on me.”

Santana glares at her, but everyone gasps quietly to themselves, “Who the hell told you  _ that?” _

“Tina told me you liked me.” She points at her, bitter smile on her face, “That you’re so mean to me because you don’t know how else to show me that you like me.”

Santana turns to face Mercedes, eyes narrowed, before turning back to Rachel.

“Okay, princess, let me burst your bubble right now. I  _ don’t  _ have a crush on you. And secondly, Mercedes, because I know you’re the one that told Tina,” Santana faces Mercedes, “It was a  _ lie.  _ You know, something you tell that isn’t true? Why the hell would I want to like anyone in this complete hellhole? You all  _ suck _ . I used to think you used to suck a little less, Mercedes, but obviously you’re just as bad as the rest of them.”

Mercedes looks to her lap silently, and Santana shoots daggers at the rest of the club, who look either disappointed or doubtful. She stares at Quinn, who looks deeply confused, before sighing to herself.

“I’m so over this club. This was fun though, see you next week, losers!” Santana speeds out, before rushing into a cubicle into the girl’s bathroom. Her hands shake. She can’t tell if she’s horrified by what she did, or relieved that she got it all out. Her face pulls into a grin, without her permission, pulling her knees to her chest and sighing reverently in the silence of the cubicle. 

\---

“How’d it go? Did you win?” Her pop asks when she gets home, pouring over his model boat at the dining table. Sometimes, Santana genuinely wonders how they’re related. Her mama sits next to him, finishing off a bowl of soup and bread for afternoon tea, she assumes.

“What win? You won something?” She asks, confused.

“Of course I won.” Santana gloats, sitting down at the table, her pop shushing her at the movement. “It was a competition solo in Glee.”

“Oh, that’s wonderful.” Her mama replies, smile wide, “When’s this? That sectionals competition, right? That’s the first one?”

Santana nods, “I didn't take it though.”

“What? Why?” Her pop asks, confused.

“You were right. It’s not worth the attention.”

“What did you say to her?” Her mama demands heatedly.

“I didn’t think she’d listen!” He defends.

Santana sighs, and carefully reaches across the table to grab her mama’s hands, “It’s okay, really, it’s a shit song. I promise you. It was a teaching moment for that bitch Rachel, and next time, I’ll just bully Mr. Schue for a better number.”

Her mama looks into her eyes searching, but obviously finds nothing worrying, so she just responds, “If you insist, Santana. But don’t let people push you around.”

Santana grinds her teeth together, not meeting their eyes, as she grounds out, “No, no. I wouldn’t let that happen, I’m not that much of a wimp.”


	9. Ballad

Schue claps loudly, “Alright, who knows what ballad means?”

Rachel sticks her hands up, but Schue, for once, doesn’t even notice. 

“I’m pretty sure that’s what my mom paid for when I got thrown in mall jail for stealing a pair of headphones.” Puck muses. 

Santana scoffs, “That’s not it, moron.”

“Ballad, Puck, not bail.” Schue explains, before his eyes light up when he notices Rachel’s hands, “Rachel.”

“A ballad is a traditional song about the love you feel for another person.” She swoons, sighing quietly to herself.

Schue smiles sheepishly, “Close, but ballads aren’t always about love.”

He proceeds to explain how ballads are stories in the form of song, and laying out that the assignment for Glee this week is to perform a ballad to another person in the club. Santana wants to puke.

“Mr. Schue, I choose Santana.” Mercedes volunteers, and when their eyes meet, Mercedes gives her an apologetic glance, which makes Santana shake her head and look away, “I have a lot to apologize for.”

“I pick Quinn.” Finn immediately pipes up.

Schue tuts, “No, no, no. That’s way too easy. Music is all about pushing boundaries, and I need to push  _ your  _ boundaries. I’ve put all your names in this hat, and whoever you choose is your partner.”

Santana has to sing some stupid song to one of these random freaks about her emotions or whatever? Shoot her now.

“Matt’s not even here though,” Puck argues, “They found a massive spider in his ear and he has to get it removed or some shit.”

“And I’m not singing.” Kurt frowns, “Especially not a love song, and certainly not to anyone in this room.”

Blaine’s face falls comically. 

Schue sighs, before fishing out Kurt’s name with a frown, “Alright, that’s fine, I guess. Who’s up first? Puck, you want to start?”

Puck goes up and reads out, “Mercedes.”

Her face falls, and her fingers uncross anticlimactically. 

Artie wheels up, and with a grimace reads out, “Rachel.”

Finn picks his paper up dopily, “Blaine. Uh, wait... We have to do a love song? No offense, I really don’t want to sing something like that to you… or just, y’know, another dude in general.”

“Um, I don’t really want to sing a love song to you either.” Blaine mutters, turning away from him, and facing the wall with a pout. Schue just gives Finn a clap on the back as he moves to sit down dejectedly. 

Santana grimaces as she walks up. She does the math quickly in her head, the likelihood of her getting one of the Asians she’s honestly never spoken to one-on-one with is high, which makes her a little uncomfortable to think about. Mike can’t hold a conversation, and Tina bores her to no end. She knows there’s a high chance of her getting Quinn, which makes her stomach turn a little with anticipation. 

She fishes out her paper and breathes out, “I got Quinn.”

Quinn raises an eyebrow, and stares at her blankly from across the room. Her mouth turns up a little, something small that makes Santana confused. 

Schue claps, which startles her out of her funk, and smiles brightly, “Well, those are your partners! Good luck on the assignment!”

\---

The next day comes abruptly, and Quinn and Santana sit silently on the floor, both pouring over the sheet music folder, looking for a song to sing to one another. Santana wonders briefly if Quinn’s worried about it getting too gay for her, like how she imagines Blaine and Finn’s sessions are going.

Their hands touch to turn the page, making Santana fumble and pull the offending body part away with a stunned expression. 

“It’s a little weird to be looking for words to say,” Quinn murmurs, not looking at her, “Instead of actually having something to say.”

“I… This assignment is weird.” Santana grumbles. 

“How’s it weird?” Quinn smiles to herself, “I think singing your feelings is very… freeing. Don’t you have something to say to… anyone in particular?”

Santana stares at her, her heart skipping a beat, “I guess so. My abuela, maybe, I don’t know. What about you? You’re looking for a song to sing as well.”

She sighs to herself, “No one in particular, because everything kind of sucks right now. My friends ditched me, my mom is completely oblivious to the fact that the dress we got tailored two months ago suddenly doesn’t fit any more, and my dad… Well. It’s just a lot of pressure. Not even mentioning Finn.”

“Well, that’s a start, I guess.” Santana pushes the folder away and closes it, “You shouldn’t look at that, not really. You need something you actually connect with, right? I’ll help you find a song.”

“What about you?” Quinn looks at her demurely, fluttering her eyelashes, “Don’t you have someone you want to sing to?”

Santana gulps, and looks off, “That’s a little less important.”

“I wouldn’t say that.” Quinn sighs.

\---

“This is kinda weird.” Finn mentions, for about the twentieth time since they started brainstorming songs. Blaine’s honestly getting a little annoyed. The boys in this Glee club are way too obsessed with looking gay for singing to a dude for people in a choir club. What’s wrong with being gay? Lots of cool people are gay. He likes Elton John’s music, and everyone loves Queen, and their frontman was gay. It’s kind of exhausting.

Blaine sighs, “Well, we’ll cross off ‘ _ With A Little Help From My Friends _ ’ then.”

“I’m just not used to singing to dudes, like, it’s not even you, man. It’s just the assignment.”

“We don’t even need to sing to each other, you know that right?”

“Well, no, we kind of have to.” Finn frowns, “It’s the assignment. You were there for that.”

“No, I mean, you don’t have to sing your feelings for me… or lack of them, just sing about someone else. As long as you’re expressing yourself through song, I don’t think that Schue will care.” Blaine mentions, because he is not that interested in serenading  _ Finn. _

Finn makes an understanding noise, “Oh. That would make sense.”

“You want to sing to Quinn, right?” He asks, leaning back on his hands. 

Finn rubs his neck, “Kinda. I feel bad that I dragged her into this baby mess, like, it’s my fault, y’know?”

Blaine makes an affirming noise. 

“I also wish I could tell my daughter that we didn’t, like, abandon her.” Finn mumbles, “I don’t want her to grow up thinking I didn’t love her, just because I’ll never be able to tell her that I do.”

“Why don’t you sing about that?” Blaine pushes himself up, and makes a break for the piano, “You know that song,  _ ‘I’ll Stand By You _ ’? By The Pretenders? You sing, and I’ll play the piano. Everyone gets that singing is a good way to express yourself, nothing... gay... about it.”

Finn scrambles to his feet, and comes to stand by Blaine, “Now?”

“Yeah, why not?” Blaine smiles at him, and begins to play. 

\---

“I can’t believe you told your mom. What if she tells my mom?” Quinn frets, tone irritated, as she argues with Finn at her locker, Santana watching from afar. Once Quinn storms off, Santana slips after her, following her into the girl’s bathroom. 

Quinn’s carefully splashing water on her face, trying to rub the redness from her eyes. She looks up at the noise of the bathroom door. Her tears turn to sobs. 

“You’re always here when I’m having a shitty day.” She mutters through gritted teeth, trying to blink back her tears.

“Sorry.” Santana apologizes, not sounding sorry at all, standing at the sink next to Quinn and pretending to wash her hands, “My hands were dirty.”

“The tap’s not even on.”

Santana looks at her hands, “Oh, you’re right, they’re not dirty. I was just lying.”

Quinn glares at her, the tears in her eyes accentuated by the redness around them, and Santana imagines if she were a person of worse constitution, she would be dead. Luckily for her, she ate her wheaties as a kid.

“Typical stupid boy things.” Santana mentions, “Telling his mom.”

“I can’t believe he did that.” Quinn whimpers, “What if my parents find out from his mom? I’ll be  _ so  _ dead.”

“This is why all men are the weakest link, they’re all basically declared brain dead at birth.” Santana rolls her eyes, grabbing some tissues from her pocket, folding them over and handing them to Quinn. 

Quinn takes them softly, “Almost makes me want to give them up altogether.”

Santana’s stunned. Is this flirting? Quinn knows she’s a lesbian, right? She knows she basically was born giving up men? She can’t be flirting. They’re in a public bathroom, it’d be weird.

“Uh, y-yeah.” Santana stutters, sticking her outstretched hand nervously into her jeans pocket.

Quinn smiles at her softly, tears fading, before staring at the damp tissues thoughtfully. 

“I’d usually be crying to Kurt right now, but he keeps ignoring me.” Quinn sighs, “So it’s good that you’re here. You’re good, Santana.”

“You really think so?” Santana mumbles shyly, rubbing at her hips through her jean pocket.

Quinn nods to herself, “Yeah.”

Well, shit.

\---

Santana has liked Quinn for a while. She doesn’t like to admit it, instead she likes to imagine it’s just because Quinn is stunningly beautiful, that’s why she’s so quick to want to be with her, and always get that ill feeling in that stomach that knows if she humiliated herself in front of Quinn, she’d probably want to die. She knows deep-down it’s more than just attraction. If she were a pathetic romantic that was incapable of having any sort of critical thinking skills, she’d go as far as to say she loved her. It’s misguided, sure, but she got  _ vibes  _ from Quinn for a  _ long  _ time. 

It only began because a little bit after Santana got outed, Quinn would snark at Kurt if he tried to slushie her. She was a bit like a knight-in-shining-armour type in that way.

\---

_ “What’s your deal with her?” Quinn muttered, glaring at Kurt with his overflowing blue raspberry slushie, sights directly on Santana, “It’s like you’re obsessed.” _

_ “I’m not obsessed.” Kurt argued, glaring back at Quinn. Santana had her back pushed back against the lockers, watching them fight like it was a tennis match of wits. Which was accurate, kind of.  _

_ “I’m sick of following you around, just to find out you’re going to slushy the lesbian again.” Quinn spat back, “It’s humiliating for me. I have things to do, Kurt.” _

_ “Fine,” Kurt grumbles, chucking the slushie into the bin next to Santana, “Look, not obsessed. You’re lucky, dyke.” _

_ Santana watched them walk off, looking at the blue slush covering the rest of the waste in the bins, and her lips turned up into a smile. That had to mean  _ something,  _ surely.  _

_ \--- _

Santana and Quinn have bonded since then, and the vibes just keep on coming, so to speak. They’re  _ tentative friends _ . Sometimes Quinn looks at her with a little smile on her face, and Santana is transported to a fantasy world where they live together in a coastal city and make out and stuff. It’s a pretty awesome fantasy. 

She knows Quinn has half the neanderthal population lusting after her babydoll dresses, but Santana has a lot they don’t have, and that’s not just boobs. She understands Quinn better than any of them do. She won’t even make stupid mistakes like boys do. Quinn will get sick of Finn and the like, and then she’ll be crying into Santana’s slushie towels, maybe even cuddled up beside her in the choir room or something. That’s what she’s working towards, at least.

\---

Blaine’s watching Grease alone in the lounge room, because Kurt’s basically gone AWOL and refuses to speak to him since Glee. Blaine knows not to push him, but it doesn’t mean he doesn’t cry at ‘ _ Hopelessly Devoted to You _ ’. He’s only human.

When his phone rings, he answers it immediately, wiping away his tears hurriedly. 

“Kurt?”

“What? No. It’s Finn, look, man, I’ve been thinking about what you said to me about singing your feelings and stuff. You really think that singing is the best way to say something, right?” 

Blaine’s brain feels like it’s been baked in an oven, fried and a little fuzzy, “Uh, what?”

“Sorry, I don’t have time. I have something I want to sing Quinn and her family. I’m hiding in the bathroom.” Finn’s whisper sounds more like a quiet shout through the phone speakers. “If I take too long they’ll think I’m pooping.”

“Wait, what? What are you singing?” Blaine asks, stunned, “I mean, if you really wanna make a statement, you should sing, but like-”

“A statement. Yeah, I gotta make one of those. Okay, thanks, I gotta go now, though.” Blaine’s phone makes a beeping noise, as Finn hangs up on him, and he stares at his phone in stunned silence, Sandy still wailing on the screen in front of him.

“What the hell?” Blaine mutters.

\---

“Wait, what?”

“Quinn’s parents kicked her out for being pregnant.” Finn mumbles, pulling at his trousers nervously, and avoiding Blaine’s eyes.

Blaine laughs bitterly, shocked, “You told them? What the hell, you told the Fabrays their perfect daughter was  _ pregnant? _ ”

“I thought it would be a good idea!” Finn defends himself, “You said it’d be a good idea.”

“I would’ve told you that your idea was garbage if you told me what you were doing!”

“You’re being a total douche right now, man.” Finn grumbles, “Why are you getting mad at me? I thought you were meant to be the nice one.”

“Quinn’s my friend, Finn, before you even knew my name.” Blaine points out, “She literally got kicked out of her  _ house _ . You know that means she’s homeless now?”

“She lives at my place though.” Finn mutters, avoiding Blaine’s eyes again, “So she’s not homeless.”

Blaine scoffs, “God, you can be so thick sometimes.”

“Look, I don’t know what’s up your ass, or whatever, but stop judging me, okay? Isn’t it good all the feelings or whatever are out now? She wouldn’t have hidden the pregnancy for long.” Finn grunts, crossing his arms, “She would’ve started showing whenever anyway.”

“It’s still a messed up thing to do.” Blaine mutters.

There’s the distinct sound of footsteps behind them, and they both turn to see Mercedes waving them over.

“Hey, you two. We’ve prepared something for Finn in the choir room.”

Finn looks confused, “What is it?”

Mercedes smiles at him, “Just a ballad for you and Quinn from all of us.”

\---

Kurt stops Quinn on the way out, hands curling around her wrist gently, when she looks at who it is, her eyes narrowed into slits. 

“You’re going to talk to me now?” She spits out. 

Kurt looks sheepish, “I’m sorry about what happened with your parents.”

“If I knew getting kicked out of my own home meant you would start talking to me again, I still wouldn’t have done it.” Quinn pulls her hand out of his grasp, and starts walking out faster. Kurt sighs and tries to match her pace.

“Quinn, look, I’m a total dick, I get it.” Kurt rushes out, “But you’re still my friend and I care about you, dammit. Even when I’m being a total dickbag, I’m still going to care. I’m sorry for freezing you out. I’m sorry for ignoring you, and not even trying to help you out with all this… reputation stuff.”

“I don’t need someone to make me look better, you idiot!” Quinn shouts, eyes wet with tears, “I needed my friend, Kurt.” 

Kurt stares at her, stunned, completely silent.

“I have to deal with everyone, and I mean everyone, completely alienating me for the past two weeks, and the only person who I like at least a little bit, completely ignored me just so he can be the stupid head cheerleader now that I’m gone.”

“How did you…”

“Blaine told me.”

“Quinn, you don’t know what being head cheerleader would do for me. Actually, you  _ would  _ know, since you  _ were _ the head cheerleader.”

Quinn scoffs, “Yeah, and look what it got me, I’m pregnant and being treated like garbage by everyone who used to idolize me.”

Kurt mouth gapes, looking for the right words to say. He sighs and runs his hands through his hair nervously. “I really don’t know what to say here. But I am truly sorry.”

“If I say I forgive you, will you stop pretending I don’t exist in public?” Quinn asks tearfully. Her voice sounds like she doesn’t believe he actually would take it, which makes Kurt feel even worse. 

“Every time I see you in public I will make out with you so everyone knows we’re still acquainted.”

Quinn laughs, nose sniffling a little bit as she wipes away her tears from her cheeks, “No, no, I don’t want to go that far.”

Kurt looks at his shoes, “That’s fine.”

Quinn hesitantly reaches out for his arm, curling it around her own like either one of them will break under the pressure, “I missed you, really.” 

Kurt meets her gaze, still a little wet, and nods with a smile, “I missed you too.”

He looks down the corridor, empty, bathed in the late afternoon sunlight, “If you don’t want to live with Frankenteen, you can come stay with me and my dad. We have a spare room from when our aunt used to stay over, if you want it.”

Quinn hums, curling into his shoulder, “I’ll be okay with Finn, for now.”

“I’ll be praying for you.”

“I’ll need it. Thanks.”

\---

Blaine sits in front of the camcorder, guitar strings being strummed by calloused fingers, face bitter as he sings.

“ _ But now there's no way to hide, since you pushed my love aside, _ ” His shoulders are hunched over, tense, “ _ I'm out of my head, hopelessly devoted to you.” _

His phone rings and he pauses, guitar being laid gently onto his bed, as he checks the contact ID. He smiles, something pure and soft.

Blaine answers the phone, and tries not to let the grin creep into his voice, “Kurt.”


	10. Hairography

“I have decided to extend you an olive branch.” Santana begins. 

Rachel looks a little scared at Santana’s presence, and doesn’t say anything. 

Santana smirks a little at her, “See, I know you want in Hudson’s blue jeans. It’s written all over your face, and just about basically _everywhere_. It is a constant smell that stinks up the _entire_ choir room. You’re a cat in heat, and you want him _bad_. Luckily, I can help.”

She looks guarded, but clears her throat a little and glares at Santana, “What would you know about seducing men?”

“Um, everything? They’re pretty easy, I don’t need to be straight to know the way they think.” Santana scoffs, “In fact, I’m pretty much the top person to ask - I’m actually attracted to women _and_ I don’t completely suck.”

“The last time you spoke to me, you threatened to cut off my ponytail.” Rachel mutters. 

“That was, like, two days ago, so, y’know, water under the bridge.” Santana smiles sunnily, “I forgive you for blocking my view of the notes on the board. Do you want my help or not?”

Rachel smiles a little, dreamily looking at her textbooks, probably thinking about Finn instead of Algebra or Biology, “I do… want to impress Finn.”

“And I can help with that.” 

Santana tries to hide a smirk by looking at the ground. Once Rachel and Finn finally run off to make little annoying show choir babies, Santana won’t even have to worry about Quinn being in a relationship when they decide to move to Florida together. It’s a win-win for everyone. Rachel wanders off, shutting her locker behind her and hiding a small smile underneath her textbooks. 

“Why are you talking to Rachel and not me?”

Santana jumps a little bit, before turning guiltily to Mercedes.

She glares at her, “She’s the one who made fun of your crush on her. Why would you forgive her first?”

Santana frowns, “Why did you tell people that I had a crush on Rachel?”

“Look, I’m really sorry I did that, Santana. When I hear gossip, I can’t contain myself. I’m like Perez Hilton.” Mercedes sighs, “I _really_ don’t want to fight over it anymore. I miss hanging out with you.”

“If anyone outside of Glee club found out about my crush, I’d be dead,” Santana mutters, “You know that right? Being in this school already sucks. If they found I was gay and actually trying to act on it, it’d be even worse for me than it already is.”

“I didn’t… I didn’t think about that.” Mercedes looks at her feet. 

Santana sighs, “Look, I totally know I’m being a complete dick right now, but I’m really upset with you. I’m not ready to forgive you yet.”

Mercedes takes a deep breath, but gives Santana a soft smile, “That’s fine. But… you’ll forgive me one day, right?”

Santana looks away, “One day.”

\---

Santana smiles to herself, patting herself on the back for a job well done. She actually ended up making Rachel look somewhat hot. Her makeup is done well, and she’s in a pretty daring dress for a school in Ohio. Rachel walks past her at the lockers, and the guys stop in their paths to watch her walk past. God, she’s damn good at makeovers, she thinks. She should get her own show on E!. No guy can resist a girl when she’s done up to the nines. They’re all vapid like that. 

\---

“Seriously? Right under her nose?” Kurt usually doesn’t like listening to anything the other cheerleaders have to say. They talk about the most mind-numbing awful shit, it makes Kurt want to blow his brains out.

“Yeah, and our sexts were super hot. Like, I can’t even say them aloud, they’re _that_ scandalous. Here, look at them,” The cheerleader gloats, leaning into her friend and fishing out her phone to show her, “The best part is that she can’t even get mad, _she’s_ the one cheating on Finn.”

Kurt pauses, looking at the two of them slowly. 

The other girl giggles, “These are _so_ dirty!”

He stomps up to them and yanks the girl’s phone from her friend’s hands, reading the sexts with a mild expression. It’s all standard affair sexy teenager bullshit, but there’s a text that’s obviously from Puck, gloating about how he’s stuck babysitting with Quinn but still sexting her at the same time. He feels his blood heat up a little with anger.

“Give me my phone back, pervert!” The cheerleader screeches, standing up to Kurt.

Kurt purses his lips, “Wow, these are not hot at all. You’re an uber-virgin, aren’t you? That’s so sad.”

“Why does it even matter to you?” She snarks, “You’re just jealous I’m not sexting you.”

Kurt laughs, “You have something seriously wrong with you, you know that right?”

She looks a little weary, protectively holding her phone to her chest.

“I’m out of here. I need to have some serious conversations with certain people.” Kurt mutters, walking off without a second glance. 

“Do you think he’ll tell Sue?” The friend frets, “I can’t get kicked off the team because you yelled at him, I just can’t.”

\---

“I thought you liked me now.” Rachel stomps up to her, boxing Santana in at her locker, and making her feel very claustrophobic despite the fact Rachel is a few inches shorter than her. Santana squints her eyes at her.

“What the hell’s your problem now?”

“Finn hated the makeover. He hated _me,_ and how I looked.” 

Santana frowns, “That’s not possible. Guys like girls when they look like that.”

Rachel sniffles, “He told me he liked how I normally dress.”

“Well, that’s just a weird schoolgirl fetish then.” 

“Why would you even want to help me be with Finn anyway?” Rachel sulks, “I knew when you offered to help me it was too good to be true.”

“Hey, don’t get pouty on me. I thought it would actually _work._ ”

\---

“You have some real problems, you know that, right?” Kurt begins, storming up to Quinn, innocently looking through her locker with a poignant expression. She glances at him wearily. 

“I’m a little offended you’re so blasé about it, but a little bit, I think.” She replies blankly, returning to sorting through her locker with a calm gaze. 

Kurt scoffs, before shutting her locker in front of her, “You’re babysitting with the Puckasaurus?”

“You found out about that?” Quinn goes pale, and refuses to meet Kurt’s eyes, shaking her head a little bit, “You wouldn’t understand, he cares about me.”

“I found out because that moronic cheerleader with the massive forehead was gloating about sexting him right under your nose in Cheerio practice.” Kurt snarks, glaring at her. 

“What?”

“Oh, apparently they were too hot to even read out!” Kurt sighs heavily, and runs his hand through his hair, trying to meet Quinn’s eyes, “You were upset that Finn might try to cheat on you? When you’re trying to jump his best friend?”

Quinn stays quiet.

“Well, shit. If you really want to be cheated on, Quinn, then go for Puck, but I just want you to know that as your friend, I do _not_ support this.” Kurt states firmly, before turning on the spot and storming away. 

\---

Santana’s walking to fifth period when she watches Finn and Quinn walk out, arm in arm, and stops to watch them. They look natural together, that’s the thing. They look like they belong with each other. She wonders briefly if people can see that type of chemistry between her and Quinn, that people look at the two of them together and think that they’re a cute couple. She frowns a little to herself. It always feels right when Santana’s with Quinn, like somewhere she truly belongs. Do other people notice that?

Once they’re out of sight, Santana continues to her class, but is suddenly grabbed by hands that pull her into an empty classroom. Fuck, she was too lesbian in public and now she’s going to beaten to a pulp.

“A real man would beat me up in the corridors!” Santana shouts, and when the hands let her go, she sees Rachel ‘Man-Hands’ Berry locking the door behind her with a determined gaze.

Santana raises an eyebrow, “I didn’t peg you for being a raging homophobic bully, but I get that we all have hidden strengths.”

“I figured it out.” Rachel rushes out, coming face to face with Santana, inches apart, “You’re in love with Quinn.”

“What?”

“It’s obvious now. You like her, and if Finn dated me, you wouldn’t have to deal with him for competition.” Rachel’s smile turns to a grin, obviously pleased with her deduction.

Santana’s heart sinks, but tries to keep up her unimpressed expression, “I don’t know what gave you that idea. Why would I like Quinn? Her friends have been slushying me for the past two years.” 

“You made up that lie about liking me so Mercedes wouldn’t be suspicious.” Rachel points at her, her face determined, “You’ve never even _insulted_ Quinn in Glee, and you insult everyone in that club. You actually like her.”

“So what if I did?” Santana’s face turns blank, “If I never date Quinn, you’ll never date Finn. You know they’re having a kid together? That’s pretty much grounds for marriage in this town. We’ll never get what we want so you should be thankful I even _bothered_ trying to help you get Finn, even for a brief moment.”

Rachel laughs bitterly, “We’re not a fair comparison, Santana. If Quinn and Finn ever break up, I’ll still be an option to him.”

“What the hell’s that supposed to mean?”

“I mean that you can treat me like garbage as much as you want, and pretend you’re untouchable, but you do know Quinn will never want to date you, right? She won’t even consider you. She likes _boys_ , Santana. She’s _straight._ ”

Santana frowns as she feels her body go numb. She shoves Rachel aside, and unlocks the door, glancing back at an astounded Rachel. 

“I’ve got to get to English.” Santana says bluntly, “I don’t have time to listen to this crap.”

She takes one long look at her, before hurrying out of the classroom, running to the bus stop down the road with tears pooling at the corner of her eyes. Santana pulls out her phone, and types out a quick text, trying not to cry over the keyboard. 

**_To: Mercedes_ **

_All is forgiven if u invite me over to ur place after school. Bring ice cream + bitchiness. Also i left my bag in my locker LOL can u grab it for me 2 xx - San_

_\---_

“So why are we crying tonight?” Mercedes asks seriously, handing Santana a pint of cookie dough ice cream and a spoon. Santana huddles further into her fort of Mercedes’ bed pillows with a dark look on her face.

“I never said we were crying.” She mutters, “I said we were gonna be bitchy.”

“When I hear ice cream, I think that we’re going to cry,” Mercedes points out softly, leaning into her space casually, “Seriously, what’s wrong?”

Santana sniffles weakly, “I don’t cry, ever. Sometimes my eyes get so dry they just randomly tear up and I can’t even stop it. It’s really embarrassing for me. People just think I’m crying when I’m so obviously not, y’know? Like right now, I’m not even crying, my eyes are just dry.”

Mercedes pats her shoulder comfortingly, digging out a scoop of ice cream with her own spoon, and laying into the pillows on Santana’s side. 

After a few quiet moments, Mercedes is watching Geordie Shore with an unimpressed look on her face, and Santana is trying not to burst into tears into her ice cream, letting the cold from the tub freeze her hands, she mutters, “Rachel sucks so bad.”

Mercedes snorts, “You got that right, sister.”

“Like really bad.” 

“What’d she do?” 

Santana shakes her head, and leans into Mercedes’ shoulder, “I don’t want to talk about it.”

“That’s okay,” Mercedes concedes, “Guess what I found out today?”

Santana glances at her, “What?”

“It’s crazy gossip, but apparently Puck’s the real father of Quinn’s baby.” Mercedes replies reverently, “It’s Glee club’s first scandal!”

Santana is quiet.

“Santana?” Mercedes looks over, and Santana breaks. She lets out sobs into the pillows against her, pushing her ice cream onto the bedside table haphazardly and trying to cover her face so Mercedes can’t see her cry.

The room is quiet besides Santana’s chest-wracking sobs, and the sounds of Geordie accents fighting about some inane bullshit, before Mercedes lets out a quiet, “Oh.”

Santana’s too tired to even deny it, and she gets pulled into Mercedes’ arms, tears seeping into her pink shirt. She feels a little bit like she’s dying.


	11. Mattress

“I would like to let everyone know that as the primary leader of this club, I would like to formally nominate myself for the position of team captain. This would obviously mean I will be taking the photo on behalf of the entire Glee club.” Rachel stands up, hands crossing in front of her skirt primly.

Santana drags her eyes over to her, leaning her arm on Mercedes’ shoulder.

“I nominate Rachel.” Mercedes says dully. 

“Same.” Santana agrees. 

“Wait, not right now, I have a speech prepared-” Rachel asserts, fluttering her hands in her cardigan pockets to pull out a crumpled up piece of paper. 

“No, no speech. Let’s wrap it up quickly, I gotta butter up my guns for the football picture.” Puck kisses his biceps adoringly. Everyone slips their vote in without much fanfare.

Will looks over them, and then gestures to Rachel, “Well, congratulations, Rachel, you are one of our club captains. But only one, because we need two, guys.”

“That’s messed up, Schue.” Santana points out, “If she wants to represent us on her own, she should be able to.”

Quinn nods sagely, “We’re all very much fine with her being the face of the club.”

“We’d actually prefer it.” Kurt murmurs. 

Will makes a sputtering noise, “I am seriously disappointed in your comradery now, guys, why are you all so afraid to be seen as a member of Glee club?”

The rest of the club look at him in disbelief.

\---

“Blaine, I am offering you a once in a lifetime offer.” Rachel smiles good-naturedly, meeting his pace as they both traverse through the corridors together. 

He glances at her, confused, “Is this about the club captain stuff? Because I don’t want to.”

“What? Why!” 

“Um, it’ll get defaced.”

“No, it won’t.” Rachel asserts. 

“No, it probably will. Kurt will be the one doing it.” Blaine shrugs. 

Rachel gasps, “If you told him not to, then we wouldn’t be defaced, you get that right?”

He furrows his brow, “Why would I want to do that? The drawings are kinda funny, no offense.”

Blaine keeps on walking as Rachel stops in her tracks, mouth agape, watching him walk off with a stunned expression.

\---

Santana takes a deep breath, before pulling out a seat next to Quinn in the library and plopping herself in it without much fanfare. She looks up with a stern expression to confront the sound, but when she sees Santana, her face softens. It’s not fair that she gets to look so gorgeous when Santana is so hopelessly in love with her, and she  _ means  _ the hopeless part. 

“Santana, what a surprise.” She greets, voice soft in the silence of the library.

“Hey.” She fidgets with her hands, “What’s up?”

“I want to be in the Cheerio photo, like, really bad.” She sighs to herself, looking away for a moment, “Is that weird? That I actually want to be a part of that team, at least in photo form, even though they treated me like dirt for being pregnant, and will continue to?”

Santana shakes her head softly, “Not really. We all want to be a part of something.”

Quinn nods, “You’re right. I just… I want my baby to see who I was. What I really was. We don’t even get a Glee photo, and if I’m not on the Cheerios… It’s like I never existed. Do I really want my kids to look back on these yearbooks and see that their mom didn’t do… anything?”

“I get that.” Santana smiles to herself, “So what are you going to do?”

Quinn plays with the pages of her textbook quietly, “I don’t know yet.”

“You’re Quinn Fabray, you’ll figure it out soon enough.”

“I wish I didn’t have to,” Quinn mumbles, running a hand through her blonde hair softly, “Kurt and Blaine were here earlier, going through the yearbook and laughing at it, and it makes me wish I was a little more like them.”

“Annoying?”

Quinn chuckles, “ _ No _ . Just… not worrying. It feels different now, like I’ve been humbled. It’s like we live a completely different life to them.”

Their eyes meet, and it makes Santana’s heart skip a beat. She wants to shake Quinn’s shoulders and drill it into her brain that they’re literally perfect together and that of course no one could ever match their brand of awesomeness, but she knows that’s not exactly what Quinn’s looking for, so she just digs her hands into her lap. 

“I get what you mean. They don’t have to worry about much,” Santana purses her lips, “They get to be teenagers. But, they’ll peak in high school. This is all they’ll have for a  _ long  _ time. We’ll have so much more to look forward to in the future, Quinn.”

“How can you be so sure?” She asks, voice frail, eyes wide open.

Santana looks at the table with a small smirk, “I don’t, not really. But there’s nothing else to look but forward, y’know? Whatever is past this, it has to be better than whatever’s going on right now. It  _ has  _ to be.”

Quinn nods, looking at her textbook, “I’ve never thought about it like that.”

“You have a lot of time to think about shit when you don’t have any friends.” Santana shrugs. 

“I think I’m beginning to understand that.” 

\---

Santana poses for the photo. She’s a little surprised they ended up getting one in the first place, but she won’t question it. It’s been an exhausting week, between the commercial, Schue’s baby drama, and then the subsequent disqualification from Sectionals. Then, everything’s all well and good again. Except Schue, he’ll still never have a child, which totally sucks for him, but Santana’s alright. She deserves a deep soak in the bath when she gets home. 

Before she leaves, she feels firm, small arms wrap tightly around her midriff from behind, before noticing the blonde ponytail on her shoulder. She immediately freezes up. Holy shit. Quinn Fabray is hugging her. She must be dreaming. Fuck, what does she do?

Before she even has the time to react, Quinn unwraps her arms and comes to face her, a beaming smile that Santana hasn’t seen since the whole pregnancy business started. It’s a welcome change. 

Santana gapes, “Uh, um. Oh, hey, look, you’re in your Cheerio uniform!”

Fuck. That was  _ so  _ the wrong thing to say. Stupid!

Quinn twirls a little bit, letting the skirt fly around her in an arc, “I’m not back on the Cheerios, though, just wearing the uniform. I threatened Sue to be in the photo… and to get Glee their own photo page.”

“Holy shit, that was you?”

“Yep.” Quinn wraps her arms around her waist, “I wanted my kids to see me at my best, and I think… I think Glee is a good way to show that.”

“Congrats, Quinn.” 

Quinn nods to her, “Thanks. But I should be thanking you, honestly.”

“I didn’t do anything. I’m actually a massive bitch, really.” Santana frowns.

She shakes her head firmly, “You’re the only person who hasn’t treated me like I’m a total monster these past few weeks. I know I talk about being… alone… a lot, but I wasn’t, not really, because you were always… there. In some way.”

Santana looks uncomfortable, “It’s not a big deal.”

_ If you found out I had a crush on you, you’d have a distinctly different opinion on the matter.  _

“It is a big deal.” Quinn looks at her, underneath dark eyelashes, before smiling a little at her shoes, “I wanted to feel good about something, so, I mean, now you know your kids will look back on the yearbook and see you in Glee too, at your best, even.”

Santana laughs a little, “I don’t know if I’ll ever have kids, but I guess that’s a sweet sentiment.”

“I think you’ll find someone, Santana. Someone you’ll want to have kids with.” Quinn smiles innocently, letting their eyes meet casually. 

Santana purses her lips, and looks away.

“Maybe.”


	12. Sectionals

“Dudes, this is mad serious. If Rachel finds out about this, she will tell Finn, and if Finn finds out, we’re all going to be dead.” Artie frets through the phone, placed between Santana and Mercedes’ ears, “Seriously, he’s like three times bigger than me.”

“I have a dog park near my house,” Santana starts, looking into the distance as she thinks aloud, “I could totally lock her to the fence and feed her before I go to school and when I get home. It’s a good plan, we should do it. It’ll just be until Sectionals, so it won’t be illegal.”

“We can’t do that,” Mercedes brushes it off, “We still need her to sing.”

“Also, it’s super illegal.” Artie chimes in.

“ _ Shit _ , you’re right. Not you, Artie. Mercedes is, though.” 

Mercedes’ phone makes a beep noise, and she answers it immediately.

Kurt’s voice comes through the speaker, “We heard. She’s onto us. Who told?”

“I honestly thought it was you.”

“Why the hell would you say something so mean?” Kurt snarks, “I wouldn’t talk to Rachel willingly even if I was on fire and she had a pail of water.”

“As if you wouldn’t sabotage Quinn just to get head cheerleader.” Santana mutters.

Blaine makes a noise through the speaker, “She’s right, Kurt. You’d do that.”

“No, I wouldn’t.” Kurt sighed, “I’m reformed now. If Finn and Quinn break up because of Rachel, I’d have to deal with Puck and Quinn having sex and that honestly makes me want to throw up.”

“They would have already had sex to have the baby.” Tina points out plainly.

Kurt whines through the phone, “Stop, stop. Don’t point it out, it’s disgusting. I don’t want to hear about it.”

“Kurt’s got a point, if Quinn and Finn break up, Puck and Quinn will get together and who honestly wants that?” Santana spits out, glaring at the ground. 

“But them having sex is any better?” Artie wonders aloud.

Blaine makes a thoughtful noise, “Everyone knows sex isn’t at all close to dating. If that were true, Kurt and I would be dating.”

Santana and Mercedes stop in their tracks, staring at the phone in shock, before they hear a quiet “Ow.” from Blaine.

“Moving swiftly along; seriously, I don’t want them together.” Kurt mutters.

They keep walking.

“Shut it for a moment, Rachel’s coming.” Santana hisses into the phone, and as Rachel passes, Mercedes wiggles her fingers in a wave, whilst Santana just glares at her. 

“Hey, hot mama!” Mercedes greets, which makes Rachel smile, confused, but doesn’t stop to ask. Mercedes schools her face again, and returns to the phone, “I know I really messed up by telling everyone, but you guys gotta keep this on the downlow, because if Rachel finds out, she’ll definitely tell Finn and he’ll  _ flip _ .”

“And then we’ll be down a member for sectionals.” Santana points out mournfully. 

\---

“Do you ever think before you say things?” Kurt hisses, pushing Blaine into the boy’s bathroom by his shoulders. There’s a dorky freshman washing his hands, and Kurt gives him a glare and points behind his shoulder, which makes him scurry off without much of a peep. 

Blaine frowns at Kurt, “I don’t know what the problem is.”

“I don’t know, because having sex between two guys is a little gay?” Kurt snarks, “You know, that same kind of gay that gets Santana tortured everyday?”

“This whole homophobia stuff is so stupid,” Blaine moans, crossing his arms, “When I have sex with a girl, it’s all pats on the back and congratulations, but I can’t even talk about when we have sex because it’s gay? It’s dumb.”

Kurt sighs, “I know  _ you  _ live in a world where you think that every orgasm should be remembered fondly and told with great spectacle, but  _ we  _ don’t live in that world. You can’t talk about what we do together unless you want to be the one getting pushed into lockers for sport.” 

Blaine glares at him, “I’m sick of policing the way I act for other people.”

“...I know.” Kurt mutters. God, does he know. He moves to sit on the edge of the sink basin, and Blaine rests his head on his shoulder. It makes Kurt feel a little ill with nerves. He’s worried that someone will walk in, and notice, and he’ll have to pull himself away so people won’t even think for a moment that maybe they’re more than just ‘bros’. He’s policing his own actions, even as Blaine complains about it. It’s like a part of his brain he can’t even turn off - he doesn’t know how to act any other way.

“Just…” Kurt starts, voice soft, “Keep it quiet? Please?”

Blaine looks at him from his position on Kurt’s shoulder, “It’s dumb... But fine. For you, at least.”

Kurt lets out a breath he didn’t even know he was holding. 

\---

Finn comes in, punches Puck, yells at Quinn, and storms out all within a few minutes. Quinn leaves shortly after, with Rachel’s shoes click-clacking after her. It was a little emotionally exhausting, just being near it, Santana concedes. Mercedes, Artie, Tina and Santana sit together in shock.

“Fuck.” Santana states glumly.

Artie nods his head in agreement numbly.

“Glee club is over.” Mercedes frowns to herself, “For what it feels like is the thousandth time this month. But it feels really over.”

“It was fun for a little bit?” Santana offers sheepishly, “We can still be friends even when we aren’t singing show tunes.”

Mercedes leans into her, “It wasn’t all bad. I mean, drama-filled, but not too bad.”

“Preach.” Artie mutters dully, lacking his usual chirpiness. 

She leans back into Mercedes. Yeah. Not too bad.

\---

When they realized the set list was leaked, it was almost comical how the entire club slowly came to rest their furious gaze on Kurt in a distinct huff. He would laugh, but he’s also a little bit offended at how little they trust him.

He immediately glared at them, “Go on, say it. I know you want to.”

“Of course it’s you that leaked the set list! You hate being here  _ and _ you won’t even sing!” Santana shouts at him, sounding more and more exhausted with every word, jabbing a finger in his face, “You’ve always been up Sue’s ass, even now!” 

“I don’t owe you idiots anything, for one, and secondly, I didn’t leak your stupid set list.” Kurt huffs, “Why the hell would I want to do that?”

“So we could lose all of our funding.” Mercedes glares at him, “So you and the rest of those bitchy cheerleaders could continue getting your stupid gift bags just for existing.”

“Like I care about some garbage foundation from Lima’s finest. I’d be better off slathering rotten sewer water on my face than using the shit in those gift bags.” Kurt snarls, “You’re all just using this time to accuse me of ruining your little show choir competition instead of actually trying to save the performance together because you’re all pathetic, spineless cowards.”

“Can we not fight any more?” Blaine huffs, pushing Kurt and Santana away from each other, “I really don’t think Kurt did it.”

Santana laughs bitterly, “Kurt could  _ murder _ in front of you and you’d still be telling people he’s innocent.”

Jacob stands up abruptly, almost knocking over a lamp in his haste, which makes everyone look at him with narrowed eyes, “Actually, a-as much as I find this fighting very, uh, i-interesting. Sue paid me to find your set-list and give it to her… So, n-no, Kurt didn’t do it.”

The entire Glee club begins to shout over the top of each other, Santana having to be restrained back by Blaine as she yells profanities in Spanish at Jacob. Finn walks in, and his eyes go wide as he watches the chaos unfold. They quieten down as he steps inside, his expression both a little sheepish and a little annoyed.

Mercedes stares at him, “Oh, so you’re here to laugh at us?”

“Uh. No. I have a song for us.” He shakes the sheet music at the club, “I thought we’d need it.”


	13. Hell-O

“Now that football’s ended, I don’t have anything to do after school while you’re in Cheerio practice.” Blaine mutters, “If my dad finds out, he’ll make me go back to tutoring. I hate tutoring.”

“Your dad won’t even notice, why do you have to tell him in the first place?” Kurt replies mildly, “But you could join basketball like Finn has.”

“Are you kidding me? I’m too short.”

“I’m sure there are some short basketball players.”

“Yeah? Who?”

“Well, I don’t know any, but there’s probably a few. When my dad turns on ESPN, I tune it out just in case I lose brain cells.” Santana’s beginning to feel the same way, how does Quinn deal with their conversations? It’s like watching those low-budget D-list celebrity documentaries on Lifetime. It’s both boring and vapid as all hell. “There’s always hockey.”

“Hell no, the puckheads scare the crap out of me.” Blaine shudders, “I saw Karofsky duct tape Jacob Ben Israel to the flagpole last year and ever since then I’ve sworn not to get in his way.”

“I think you need to intimidate them in the locker rooms - whip them with your towel or something.”

“You’re watching the wrong sport channels, Kurt.”

Santana notices Quinn sitting by herself, knees pressing together and sitting like a puppet with cut strings. She’s alone again, considering Finn went AWOL and started to finally switch to his side-chick, and Puck’s still trying to chase skirts despite having a kid on the way. She was right, in a way, Quinn seems to only have Santana left, and the rest of the glee kids, if she accepts their friendship. For some of them - namely, Rachel - it doesn’t surprise Quinn wants to freeze them out. 

“You know, I realized that after they started taking off their underwear,” Kurt muses to himself, “Unironically, it had a better plotline than most shows on the CW before that happened.”

Rachel perks up significantly once she notices Schue coming through the door, and the two’s conversation stops abruptly - thank god - as he waves at her.

“Good morning, Mr. Schue.” Rachel greets with a friendly tone, “I understand that you might already have a lesson planned, however, in the wake of Finn and I’s sudden yet inevitable coupling, I already have a few ideas to suggest-”

Schue ignores her completely, which is actually pretty ballsy of him, all things considered, pulling up the projector screen and revealing the whiteboard underneath, to which he then writes, ‘Hello’.

The club pauses, squinting their eyes.

He points at it again.

“Hello?” They repeat back at him.

He smiles, “Hello. Now, what do you guys say when you answer the phone?”

“What up?” Mercedes smiles.

“Who dis be?” Artie answers.

“No, she’s dead; this is her son.” Kurt mutters.

Schue raises his eyebrows, “O-kay. Well, Alexander Graham Bell, inventor of the telephone, liked to say, “ahoy, ahoy” when he answered the phone...”

By the way, in Santana’s professional opinion, the assignment is  _ really  _ stupid.

\---

Finn performs his song to the fluttering of the girls’ eyelashes, and the casual disinterest of most of the guys. After his performance, to his obvious surprise, Kurt and Blaine corner him in front of the piano, with Kurt’s expression a little disgruntled.

Kurt sighs, “You used to be really popular, Finn.”

“Huh?”

“Oops, sorry. That obviously came out way too harsh, what I meant to say is; that troll over there in the pinafore is totally bringing down your rep. Dump her.”

Finn pauses, “You really think so?”

Kurt frowns at him pityingly, nodding slowly, “I really do. Blaine and I are basically the coolest guys in this dump, we’re never running out of dates - seriously, we know what we’re talking about.”

“I’ve pretty much made out with every girl in this school.” Blaine shrugs to himself. 

Kurt nods, backing up his claim with a smile.

“Could you teach me how to be cooler?” Finn says suddenly, “Mr. Schue was talking to me earlier about being a rockstar, a-and rockstars are meant to be like cool womanizers right? Like you two are?”

Kurt’s smile turns determined, “Of course we can. Meet us at Breadstix at 6pm.”

Finn nods, and gives a hesitant grin in response, before jogging out of the choir room with a pumped fist. Blaine turns to Kurt, eyebrows furrowed.

“Why are we doing this?”

“Sue told me to.” Kurt looks at him with pursed lips, “But I wouldn’t mind free dinner too.”

“Ah. Okay.”

\---

“Well, hawaiian pizza is obviously the best, right?” Finn explains, hands motioning to his plate, which is just spaghetti, with an excited look in his eyes, “It’s like sweet  _ and  _ savoury.”

Blaine nods his head hurriedly, “I totally get it. I actually really dig, like, margherita, as well? It’s weird. I usually don’t like plain stuff, but there’s something about margherita that I  _ get, _ y’know? Have you tried that pizza bar near Mt. Carmel? It’s totally to die for, like it’s awesome.”

“Oh, yeah, definitely. When my mom works the night shift, it’s basically all I eat.”

“Yeah, I feel that. If Kurt doesn’t come over to make me dinner, it’s, like, my entire diet, dude.” Blaine replies, still chewing his food as he talks. Kurt hands him a napkin with a disgusted look, which he takes with a quick thanks. “It’s so cool to hear I’m not the only guy, like, actually appreciating the awesomeness of the West Lima Pizza Bar, y’know?”

“Puck’s mom doesn’t even let him eat pizza because of the ham, because it’s not kosher or whatever,” Finn sighs, obviously a little perturbed at mentioning his ex-friend, “I can’t even get him to try a piece without him throwing down the God gauntlet, which is ironic, considering everything that happened recently.”

Finn takes a sip of his drink forlornly, before remembering Kurt’s even there, noticing him fidgeting with a frown in his seat, and gesturing to him awkwardly, “What’s, uh, your favorite pizza, Kurt?”

“I can’t eat pizza. Sue will find out and try and get my US citizenship revoked.” 

“Harsh.” Finn mumbles, looking back at the table. 

“You’re telling me.” He replies without much fanfare, before taking a forkful of his salad, “You wanted us to coach you on how to get girls, right? Talking about food is like, a total no-go.”

Finn frowns, “Wait, seriously? But Rachel… And Quinn…”

“If you talk about food, you’re basically telling them that they’re fat.” Kurt mentions lightly, “You’re basically saying all you want to talk about is food because it’s the only thing you have in common.”

Finn frowns, and looks up thoughtfully, “Are you calling me fat?”

“No, I’m saying that you eat too much.” 

“Kurt.” Blaine warns.

Kurt glares at the two of them, chest heavy with rage, “You wanted me to help you out, right? So why am I sitting here listening to you two flirt in front of me?”

“I’m not gay!” Finn defends himself, “And we definitely  _ aren’t  _ flirting, dude, it’d be weird.”

Kurt’s eyes glint in the warm light of Breadstix, and his blood boils, “Fuck this, I’m out of here.”

“Kurt, come back.” Blaine calls out, trying to reach for Kurt’s hand, but he’s too far away from the table, so he just slips away, pointedly annoyed. 

Kurt turns back to the two of them, spitting out, “Thanks for the free meal.”

\---

“Rachel, I’m going to be straight up with you right now,” Santana starts, following Rachel out of the club, and when she sees Santana, tries to speed up, but she simply matches her pace in turn, “If you destroy this club over some  _ dick?  _ I will kill you.”

“It’s not fair!” Rachel shouts, startling the few stragglers in the corridor that aren’t in the cafeteria, and she looks sheepish, but still a little mad, “It’s not  _ fair _ .”

“I get it, you finally get the perfect duet partner to off-put your bizarre screeching noise in the form of a rogue sasquatch, just for him to, yet again, dump a girl for the better model with less baggage, but that doesn’t mean you get to sabotage the rest of the club just to date some two-faced guy who’s like three years older than you.” Santana asserts firmly, glaring at Rachel with her arms crossed. 

Rachel shakes her head, “I thought Finn actually liked me, I thought I actually got something I wanted, and it was finally all mine. And then he dumped me after a month. Now I finally have a guy who’s actually interested in me, who wants to be with me, for real this time, and I can’t even have him because my supposed  _ friends _ are saying he’s just using me.”

Santana sighs to herself, “Look, it sucks you actually got the man of your dreams just for you to wake up and realize it’s nothing more than… well, a dream, but please, Rachel, and I put this lightly, if you take a chance on this guy and he backstabs us? I will stab you, for reals.”

Rachel glares at her weakly, “I want to take a chance with him. If you guys met him, you’d know he’s sweet, and he cares about me. There’s more to us than just the show choirs we’re in.”

“For your sake, Rachel, I hope so.” Santana glares, “Because if not, every single person in that club will be in for a world of hurt because of  _ you _ .”


	14. The Power of Madonna

“Can I ask you guys something private?”

“Yes, you should move to Israel.”

Rachel barrels on with a hesitant glance, completely ignoring Santana’s insult, “It’s about dating.”

“You  _ know  _ I can’t help with that.” Santana mutters.

“Let’s say, hypothetically, we went to a Wiggles concert last Friday night, and then because my dads weren’t home, we went up to my room and started making out. It was erotic and romantic. And then he said that we should… do it.”

Quinn rolls her eyes, “Heard that one before.  _ Nothing  _ good comes out of doing it.”

“I know. I declined, obviously. Having… sex… it’s different for girls, right? But what if then he got really crabby and left, and didn’t even take home the Care Bear I won him playing Skee Ball?” Rachel finishes, looking at the group with an imploring gaze. 

“You’re really grossing out my baby.” Quinn replies with obvious disgust.

Rachel frowns, “I just want to be ready; I know I’m getting older, and these things are going to happen someday, but how do I stop a guy from getting mad at me for saying no?”

“All men are pigs,” Santana chimes in unhelpfully, “Just never interact with them, and they won’t get mad at you for withholding sex. That’s my life motto.”

“I don’t think anyone in this club can help you, Rachel.” Mercedes sighs, leaning back in her chair, “The most action I’ve gotten is those three hours that I thought Santana liked me, and when she said she didn’t, it honestly didn’t even bother me that much.”

She shrugs in response, “I treat my girls good, what can I say?”

“I think we just have to deal with the fact that guys just won’t treat us well.” Tina frowns, “I was walking with Artie the other day and he told me he’d only date me if I dropped being goth and wore tight clothing.”

“Ouch.” Rachel mumbles, head hanging low. 

Schue stumbles into the group’s space with a cautious expression, “I don’t mean to interrupt your little sorority, but are you guys really having that much problem with the guys?”

Santana stares at him with a level gaze.

“You wouldn’t understand, Mr. Schue.” Quinn sighs, resting her head on her hands dejectedly, “You’re a guy.”

Will just frowns.

\---

Kurt pours over his reflection in the mirror, checking his jawline reverently as he douses his hair in hairspray. He’s finally beginning to get over that baby fat that’s been on his face since he was, well, a baby, which makes him look slightly more manly and less like one of the Cheerio’s little brothers. He doesn't think he’ll ever live down the day a waitress asked his date if that was the boy she was babysitting. It was humiliating, but he thinks girls like the fact that he looks like works at one of those old Victorian house LARPS as a sick orphan child, so it works.

Sometimes he’s pretty ambivalent to Sue’s antics, but today, or just this week generally, he’s enamoured with her. He  _ loves  _ Madonna. She’s a cultural icon who’s CDs line Kurt’s shelves quite openly. The fact they’re spending a week in Glee club on her discography is a total added bonus. He might actually enjoy this week. But the downside is that if he doesn’t find an older woman to make look better, he’ll probably be off the team. He  _ just  _ got the position of head cheerleader. He wouldn’t give it up for a single thing in the world. Plus, older women totally love him, he lost his virginity to a senior in freshman year, so it’s basically his M.O. at this point. His babyface gives women major motherly instincts, and so in this instance, he’s okay with that. 

Blaine peeks at him through the reflection of his mirror, which makes Kurt turn around, brandishing his hairspray can like a threat. 

Blaine lowers it down with a careful hand, “You’re not still mad about Finn and I, are you?”

Kurt glares at him, “No. I’m over that.”

He’s not over it. 

Blaine exhales a breath, and his shoulders slump gratefully, “Oh, good. I was a little worried about that. It’s been really hard on Finn, you know, the break-up with Rachel, and now she has a new boyfriend, who totally wants in her skorts, but Finn’s super upset beca-”

“Shh, Rachel.” Kurt puts a hand on Blaine’s mouth, stopping his blabbering abruptly, before smiling to himself, “She’s perfect.”

Blaine slips out of his grasp with a glare, “Are you high?”

“No.” Kurt shakes his head, “Right now, she’s perfect. It’s so obvious! She’s like 3 months older than me  _ and  _ she’s Finn’s ex.”

“I’m still not following.” Blaine narrows his eyes, tilting his head to the side in confusion.

Kurt claps to himself, and pushes his locker shut, “It’s okay; you don’t need to.”

Kurt shoves past Blaine without a second look, waltzing up to Rachel with a small smile on his face, as she looks blankly over her textbooks with a pout. At the noise of Kurt’s trainers stopping near her, she glances at him with a shocked expression.

“Kurt.” She greets, a little nervous.

Kurt waves at her, “Hey, Rachel. You know, I heard about your problem with that St. James kid, by the way, if I can say, he’s so handsome. You’ve really caught the big one now. I’m really sorry about everyone in Glee totally giving you shit for it. You don’t even deserve it this time.”

Rachel preens, “Well, they are being a little reactionary. You’re right.”

“I know, they’re judgmental and awful.” Kurt waves it off, “I think I can help you.”

“With the club?” 

“No, not at all. I could honestly care less. But I can help you with St. James.” 

Rachel purses her lips, “How?”

“I think we should have sex.”

She looks stunned, and coughs a little to herself, looking at him with big eyes, “ _ What?” _

“Do you think when Patti LuPone performed opening night as Eva Perón, it was her first time performing the songs? Do you think it was Barbara’s first time performing on stage as Fanny Brice? No, because they obviously rehearsed beforehand so they could be  _ perfect  _ for their first time.” Kurt explains reverently.

“How do you-”

“Do you really want to go into the opening night with St. James  _ blind? _ ” Kurt presses, leaning in close, “I’ll be your rehearsal. I don’t mind, really, I just want you to be the best you can be. So, when you do decide to have sex with Jesse,  _ you  _ will be perfect.”

Rachel looks away from his gaze, staring into her locker with a conflicted expression, “Wouldn’t it be… cheating, though?”

Kurt shrugs, “It’s not cheating to rehearse. Not everyone knows their lines for the first time.”

“I don’t know…” Rachel mutters, “I mean, you make a lot of sense, though. I don’t want to… do  _ that…  _ with Jesse and be  _ bad  _ at it.”

He smiles smugly, “I’ll book a hotel room. You won’t even have to lift a finger.”

\---

Kurt sighs as he shoves his shirt back on, “This was fun, but I’ve got to get back home in time for  _ American Idol _ . It’s double elimination week.”

Rachel grabs his arm quickly, “Wait, was that it?”

“Pretty much, yep.” He sighs.

“But…”

“I know, right? Where’s the fireworks, the explosions behind the eyes, heart beating out of your chest and the  _ romance _ ? It’s okay, you’ll get used to the disappointment.” Kurt mutters, staring at the raggedy carpet.

“Maybe it’s because we’re not together… That has to be it.” Rachel reasons desperately, clutching the covers to her chest tighter, “When Jesse and I do it… it’ll be different, right? Better?”

Kurt purses his lips, and leaves his fly undone as he stares at Rachel with a mild expression, “I’ll let you in on a secret, because for some reason you’re  _ really  _ bumming me out, all sex is just physical pleasure unless you do it with someone you actually  _ like _ , Rachel. So, now I’ll ask, do you love Jesse?”

“I-I don’t know.” Rachel looks off to the side, “I’ve only known him for a few weeks. Isn’t it too early to call it love?”

“Then you shouldn’t have sex with him. Simple enough.” Kurt shrugs, zipping up his fly anticlimactically, “Now, I’ve booked this room for the whole night, but check out is at 10am tomorrow, so you should probably set an alarm if you don’t want to get shooed out by the manager. He has a broom with nails sticking out of it, it’s pretty scary to be on the other end of it.”

\---

“I didn’t think working with Sue would be fun, but it was.”

Mercedes smiles smugly, “We totally reinvented her. She’s going to look like Madonna’s body double, or wax figure, even.”

“Maybe she’ll go easy on us next week and not try and weld the glee door shut again.” Santana replies mildly.

When Sue walks out, their smug smiles both drop off their faces abruptly. She smiles at them with a predatory glare in her eye.

“Hey, Whoopi. Ellen.” She greets.

“What happened?” Mercedes asks imploringly.

Santana glares at Sue, “I had to use my bus fare to buy half of the things in that video, what the hell, Sue? I’m going to be walking home for the next six months.”

“If you’re lucky, you’ll be shipped off back to whatever Mexican brothel you came from, because I had a revelation. Sue Sylvester doesn’t need reinvention, because she realized that she needs to reinvent everybody else. And that includes you two.”

Santana and Mercedes glance at each dubiously. 

\---

“Hi, Jesse.” Santana greets him, and he lends out a smug hand, which Santana takes with a simple smile. The two of them make Rachel’s eyes pop, visibly uncomfortable and a little afraid. Santana grips the hand tight abruptly, which makes Jesse frown and struggle to pull it out of her grip, “I’m going to introduce myself quickly, because I’ve been told that my hand has the grip of a matured coconut crab, and any longer I might accidentally break every bone in your arm. If you even  _ think _ about betraying this club, I will cut off your dick and feed it to Sue’s paper shredder  _ in front of you.” _

She lets go of his hand with a pointed smile, and he rubs it gingerly.

“I promise I’m not here to… betray you or anything…” Jesse replies with a sincere expression, wrapping his uncrushed hand around Rachel’s shoulders, “I’m here for my girlfriend, Rachel, because I want to be with her.”

“You two are disgusting.” Santana pretends to gag on her finger, “You better keep that promise, because I’ll sure as hell keep mine if you don’t. Capische?”

“I capische.” He mutters, pulling his gaze from hers.

Santana smiles smugly, before glaring at Rachel before walking off.

There’s apparently somewhere she needs to be.

\---

Mercedes and Santana rush into the locker rooms together, pinkies linked as they rest on the bench together in a reverent position. They’re breathing heavily, but they’re smiling.

“That was kind of awesome.” Santana exhales, excitement colouring her voice. She’s never been someone who’s found the Cheerios to be that appealing of a concept. Maybe if she hadn’t been outed weeks into freshman year, she probably would’ve been convinced to give it a shot. She’s definitely in love with the performing aspect,  _ nobody’s  _ going to want to double cross her now that she’s in with Sue, so she’s definitely going to be safe from all the bullying now. Mercedes and her will be living like queens for the rest of the year. It’s going to be  _ Madge-ical _ . 

“Totally.” Mercedes grins, “We’re actually getting  _ solos  _ now. I never expected Sue of all people to be the one person who actually notices our talent  _ and  _ wants to use it.”

“She actually pulled through for us.” Santana shrugs.

Mercedes nudges her shoulder with her own, “I’m gonna go tell my mom, she’s gonna be  _ so  _ excited.”

Santana waves her off with a grin, watching as Mercedes rushes out of the room, dialling her mom with a happy squeal. Santana brushes her skirt folds down, and stares at the floor, a little dizzy from the attention.

“You were really cool out there.” 

Santana looks up, and instantly the grin reappears on her face when she notices Quinn’s proud smile, “Thanks.”

Quinn sits down next to her gracefully, before wrapping an arm around her own good-naturedly, “Don’t forget me when you’re famous.”

“You?” Santana smirks, “Never. Unlike most Cheerio morons, I’m not going to let it go to my head.”

“I didn’t think about that. Don’t forget me for popularity either,” Quinn warns with a scornful glare, but it turns thoughtful after a moment, “You really should get more solos in Glee club. It was the best performance I’ve seen, honestly. It was just… a lot of fun.”

“I know Sue sucks… but if she’s giving Mercedes and I a chance… I don’t know.” Santana mumbles, “She’s better.”

“I’m not gonna get mad at you for being a Cheerio, Santana. I know you’ll take this as an insult, but you really are a good fit for them.”

“Wow, you’re right, I will take it as an insult.”

Quinn slaps her arm lightly, “No, I mean, you’re determined, a little ruthless… You’re honestly a lot like Sue. But you’re an individual too, you’re not like the rest of them, and I really don’t want you to be either.”

Santana hums to herself, “I guess. I’m not going to turn into another Cheerio drone though just because I’m on the team.”

“No, you probably won’t.” Quinn nods, “But you look good in the uniform.”

Santana glances at her with a thoughtful expression, trying to bite back a way-too-happy smile. They seriously can’t be flirting in a locker room, it’s so 90s and  _ really  _ cliche. They aren’t like that. 

“Really?”

Quinn looks away with a soft smile, but nods.

Mercedes comes back in with a whoop, “Mom’s so excited, she’s taking me to Breadstix tonight to celebrate, which means tots! Total victory- Oh, hey, Quinn.”

Quinn waves at her, and unlocks her arms from around Santana’s, leaving her arm cold and the emptiness is stifling, “Hi Mercedes. You were really good today.”

Mercedes looks at her with a surprised, but sincere smile, “Really? Thanks!”

“I have to go before Sue sees me in here.” Quinn states, standing up and rubbing her dress over her baby bump softly, “She’ll shave my eyebrows off.”

Santana wraps her arms around herself, “You could rock it.”

“I don’t want to try to.” She laughs a little, but waves at the two of them, “I’ll see you guys later.”

“Bye, Quinn.” Once she leaves, Mercedes gives Santana a surprised look, eyes hungry for drama. She just replies with a knowing smile, and shrugs. 

\---

Puck slams a hand down, “I am not okay with this, I like being a dude. Why are we even singing this?”

“You  _ like  _ being a dude because it’s easier.” Finn interjects, voice heated. 

“Finn has a point, Puck. All of you, do you even notice how low morale is around here?”

“The girls are fed up with us guys treating them like crap,” Finn mutters, “We don’t listen and we just… objectify them. That’s the word, right?”

Schue nods at Finn, and Blaine scratches at his neck nervously.

“A lot of us don’t even see girls as girls, we just see them for their bodies,” Blaine glances at Kurt, which he distinctly notices and shys away from, “Or as a way to get ahead.”

“We need to listen to them more, guys.” Finn frowns, “Like, respect them as people, not just because they have boobs.”

“You can spit this equality stuff, and I’m totally hearing you, or whatever, but I’m not singing this stupid song.” Puck snarls, closing himself off.

Finn glares at him, “We don’t have to sing it, we just have to let the girls know we listen to them and get how it feels.”

Schue sighs, “You guys are making great points, I’m really proud of your maturity right now. All of you.” 

He pats Finn on the back, and dismisses them. As they leave, Blaine grabs Kurt’s shoulder and stops him abruptly. 

Kurt notices him, and tries to pull away, but Blaine just glares at him and tightens his grip. 

“What are you going to lecture me about now?”

“Did you have sex with Rachel?”

“Why should it matter?”

Blaine frowns, “Because you obviously only wanted to do it to make Finn jealous.”

Kurt laughs bitterly at him, “Just Finn, huh? If you want to know so badly, so you can weep about how mean I am to your poor moronic Gigantor, then yes, I did.”

“Why do you hate him so much?” Blaine runs his hand through his curls with a pained expression, “It doesn't make any sense. To bring Rachel into it too… You’re finally acting like the guy everyone talks about.”

“So, you’re finally realizing I suck now.” Kurt chuckles at him, trying to bite back obvious tears, as he glares down at Blaine, “It’s about time.”

“I don’t think you suck, Kurt. I  _ think  _ you’re purposely trying to make everyone hate you for no reason.” Blaine frowns, “Don’t twist my words.”

“I’m not twisting anything.” Kurt mutters, “I’ve always been this way. It’s your fault for not even noticing.”

“ _ No _ , you haven’t.”

Kurt’s lip quivers, but he smiles suddenly, something bitter and pained, “Wow, I’ve really got to get to Cheerio practice, but this was fun, though.”

“Kurt, stop-”

He rushes off, shaking his head with a deep frown. He refuses to glance back at Blaine’s falling expression, running down the corridors, pushing past other students, and forcing himself into his Navigator. He locks the doors behind him hurriedly, watching the car park bustle with people, breathing evenly and making his front window fog up. He sat for a few moments, silent and pushing his hands into his eyes until he saw stars - until he couldn’t fight the chest-heaving sobs. Sometimes, he seriously hates his life.

\---

“You’re not upset I’m moving on from your mom, right?” Burt checks in, popping his head down from the top of the staircase, Kurt lying on his bed motionless and looking at the adjacent wall with the lights turned on.

He doesn’t turn over to meet his dad’s eyes, just mutters a quick, “No.”

“You sure?”

“We all deserve a chance at love.”

“I didn’t think so a few years ago, but there must be something to this love business to not even laugh at the sappiness at it, and instead think it’s spot-on,” Burt makes a lovesick chuckle, “You don’t mind her son, right? You know him, he’s on the football team, right?”

“It’s Finn Hudson. He’s the quarterback.”

“Is he nice?” Burt asks casually.

“He’s nice.”

“That’s good.” He responds, a smile obvious in his voice, “I don’t want to be interested in a woman that raises a bad son.”

_ You’re a good guy, so what’s my excuse? _ Kurt wants to say, but he just stays silent, breathing in deeply. There’s the conscious sound of Burt stepping down the staircase, before the bed dips under his weight. 

There’s a hand on Kurt’s shoulder, “Hey, you alright?”

He nods gingerly, “I have a headache.”

“Well, you’re probably not doin’ yourself any favours with all these lights turned on. It’s like a damn hospital in here.”

“Can you turn them off for me when you leave, then?”

Burt hums, “Yeah, alright. Did you want me to leave some painkillers out for you before I go out with Carole?

“No, that’s fine.” Kurt replies, voice barely higher than a whisper, “I’ll just go to bed.”

“Alright.” Burt pats his shoulder gently, trying not to jostle him too much, “If you have any problems, just ring me.”

“I wouldn’t want to interrupt your date.” Kurt mumbles, voice muffling as he digs his head further into his pillow.

Burt laughs softly, “Not interruptin’ if it’s you, kid.”


	15. Home

_ Kurt wasn’t sure what he’d expected about high school, but somehow, it’s worse than middle school ever was. He thinks it must be all the hormones flying around. In middle school, if you didn’t play Spin the Bottle with the girls or liked to sing along with the girl songs on the radio, you were just weird. Now you’re a queer, and that’s an offense in Ohio, punishable by extreme public humiliation. It’s only been a week, and he’s gotten slammed into his locker like ten times already once they noticed his Patti LuPone cutout and Vogue magazines. It sucks. _

_ There’s someone at the locker next to him, with hair stuck to his hair so tight with hair gel, it makes Kurt feel ill. For the last week, it’s been completely empty. He must be new. _

_ The kid notices him staring at him, before immediately sticking out his hand, “Hi! I’m Blaine.” _

_ “Kurt.” He murmurs, grabbing his hand gently. Blaine smiles at him, before his eyes latch onto the poster on his locker door. Kurt freaks, and pulls his hand away hurriedly, but Blaine just grins even brighter. _

_ “You read Vogue?” _

_ “Um.” _

_ “I love it!” Blaine pipes up, pushing into his personal space as he looks through the copies stored in the back of his locker, “I kept stealing my mom’s copies from her library so much she bought me my own subscription.” _

_ “Really?” Kurt breathes. This is basically the only time he’s seen a lick of kindness since entering this school. _

_ “Yeah,” Blaine flips through his most recent copy, “We just moved down from Westerville. My dad said it's because the houses here are super cheap.” _

_ “Maybe it’s because Lima is a total dump…” Kurt mutters, before realizing that maybe not everyone appreciates his brand of sarcasm, “I mean…” _

_ “Yeah, it’s no Westerville. Or Columbus. I lived there when I was a kid.” Blaine mentions with a shrug, before pushing the Vogue copies back into his locker. “Oh, cool, you like Broadway too?” _

_ He points a finger at Kurt’s Patti poster, and smiles at him, “You’re like the perfect locker buddy ever.” _

_ Kurt feels like passing out, just a little bit.  _

_ \--- _

“Mercedes.” Santana warns as she piles a chicken breast onto her plate. 

Mercedes frowns at her, “It’s healthy.”

“You know you need to lose 10 pounds to stay on the Cheerios.” Santana reminds her gently, “Look, I’m having, like, a stick of peeled celery. And this morning I had Splenda.”

Mercedes frowns at her.

She sighs, “We’re actually getting treated with respect now. Don’t you get it? This is the first week I’ve gone without getting slushied, or tripped in the hallway, or thrown in the trash, or finding my bag in the toilet…” 

Santana shakes her head, before taking a bite of her celery with a worried expression and using it to point at Mercedes accusingly, “Don’t mess this up.”

She gets that she’s being a total bitch right now. She’s not completely braindead, but she also really _, really_ likes being a Cheerio. She doesn’t care that she has to stand on her hands for 10 minutes every practice, because most people won’t even look her in the eye in the halls any more - because they’re scared this time, not that they’re afraid they can catch the gay or something. She really hasn’t felt this normal since she started freshman year. It’s… nice.

\---

“Kurt, can I ask you something?” Mercedes asks him with a shy expression.

He looks at her mildly, “Sure.”

“How do you stay skinny? Like, even to Sue’s standards?”

“Did Sue ask you to lose weight?”

“She asked me to lose ten pounds by the end of the week…” Mercedes answers, voice pointedly depressed, looking off to the side.

Kurt looks at her body with a frown, before staring back at her, “You don’t need to lose weight.”

“I know, but if I don’t lose it, I’ll get kicked off the Cheerios.”

Kurt makes an understanding noise, “Well, that makes things a little more difficult. I mean, if you really want to lose the weight, just live off smoothies and protein shakes, that’s what Sue does.”

“That can’t be healthy.” Mercedes argues.

“You’re right, but it’d be worth it to stay on the team.” Kurt shrugs.

Mercedes’ face falls a little as she looks at her lunch, before pointedly dumping it in the trash bin next to her. 

\---

“Kurt!” Finn shouts, making Kurt stop in his tracks with a glare. He catches up to him, stopping in front of him with a mildly stunned expression, “Did you know about our parents? Like, them being together?”

“It’s not my fault, I tried to stop them,” Kurt grunts, “They met each other at that stupid parent-teacher conference a month ago, but they were stuck in the middle of a mating dance and not even my distraction of those little sliders the lunch lady makes could pull them apart.”

“What…? That’s impossible.” Finn frowns to himself thoughtfully, “My mom loves sliders.”

Kurt sighs, “My dad does too. He thinks small burgers are the coolest thing ever.”

“We need to break them up - we have to.” Finn mutters, “She’s started selling all of my dad’s stuff a-and completely getting rid of him in the house.”

“Shit,” Kurt’s hand goes to his mouth in anger, “This is progressing faster than I expected.”

“How do we break them up?” Finn worries, shoving his hand into his hair hopelessly.

“I don’t even know.” Kurt answers with a hushed whisper, “This sucks.”

\---

Breadstix isn’t even that crowded, which makes Kurt feel a little better, because if anyone saw them hanging out together, as a  _ family,  _ it would make him feel a lot more like puking in the fake plants next to them. It would be humiliating. It doesn't help that Carole’s a beautiful woman, and makes him feel bad about wanting to break her and his dad up. They both seem happy with each other, that kind of happiness that you see and know that they both haven’t felt it in a while. He glares at Finn underneath his upturned bangs, and lets his disgruntled expression worsen.

God, why did Finn have to be her kid?

He sucks.

“It’s gonna be weird for a bit, right?” Burt mentions, with a charming grin, “But we’re not gonna rush anyone into it. We’re just having dinner right now, so enjoy it! I’m buyin’ anyway.”

Finn chuckles around his straw, and Kurt eyes widen at the two of them.

“You were in football, right? Kurt told me you were the quarterback.”

Finn smiles softly, “Yeah. But I’m playing basketball now.”

“Yeah, how’s that going for you?”

“Sounds crazy, but I miss getting hit.”

Carole laughs a little bit, “God, you are a typical boy.”

Kurt frowns.

“I get that, I loved getting my clock cleaned right off and then popping right back up again.” Burt explains with a small, confident grin. 

“I can’t see how getting hit is at all appealing.” Kurt mutters. 

Burt laughs at him, “You wouldn’t get it, you were never into those kinds of contact sports. You cried when you broke a nail falling off your bike.”

“I can’t just have one broken nail on my hands! It throws the symmetry off!”

Finn laughs at him, softly, but when Kurt turns a furious glare on him, he shuts up immediately. God damn Finn for boxing him into this booth. He wants to rush into the bathroom and cry on the phone to Blaine for the rest of the night, but instead he’s stuck listening to this garbage.

“Yeah, sure.” Burt brushes him off, turning his attention onto Finn, “You know, I sell tires to one of the assistant coaches for the Browns. I can probably get you tickets, if you want to go.”

Finn lights up, smiling wide, “That'd be awesome. I've never been to an NFL game.”

Kurt looks between the two of them, both decidedly happy with each other’s presence, and feels close to dying.

\---

“Finn’s a good kid.” Burt remarks once they get home, car keys clanging on the kitchen table in the silence of a dark, empty house. Kurt simply grunts in response, before searching through their kitchen drawers and grabbing his own Navigator keys.

Burt frowns at him, “Where are you goin’ now?”

“Blaine’s. He invited me over.” Not true at all, he texted Blaine in the car that he’s coming over to cry and he better vacate his room because he’s not sharing him with some random girl.

“We just got home,” Burt says incredulously, “It’s almost ten!”

“Shouldn’t you be happy I even told you?” Kurt mutters, “You’re always on my case that I never tell you where I am. So here I am, telling you.”

“This isn’t about dinner, right?”

“No, why would it be?” Kurt mutters, twirling his car keys on one finger, attempting to give the impression that he honestly could care less about the conversation - which is accurate, somewhat. If caring little could somehow circle back to obsessing over the topic, then yes, completely accurate. 

Burt sighs, “I don’t know, you’re the one who’s obviously upset - why don’t you tell me?”

Kurt glares at him, “There’s nothing to say. I’ve  _ really  _ got to go now, Blaine’s probably waiting.”

“I’m not smart like you, Kurt,” Burt grumbles as he opens the door, “I know you’re upset, but you gotta tell me why, bud, because I can’t figure it out if you don’t give me a hint.”

Kurt looks back at him, eyes obviously wet, before shaking his head and closing the door behind him as softly as he can.

\---

“He  _ hates _ me!”

“He doesn’t hate you.”

“He does, he loves Finn!” Kurt sobs into Blaine’s pillow, not even bothering to look him in the eye as he speaks, leaving the pillow damp as he moves his face to a dry spot. Blaine rubs his shoulder gently as he sobs. “Finn, who’s so awesome, and everyone loves him and wants to hang out with him  _ all the time!” _

Blaine’s hand stops rubbing for a moment, “Oh, this is about Finn.”

Kurt just screams into the pillow in response.

“Kurt, no one’s going to replace you with Finn.” Blaine comforts, laying down beside him on the pillow and trying to coax his face out of the pillow softly, “Do you think I could talk to Finn about Vogue? Or RENT? Or about my stupid problems?”

Kurt peeks up at him, “I can’t talk to you about your stupid favourite pizza bar, or to my d-dad about stupid football.”

Blaine laughs, which just makes Kurt frown and shove his face back into the pillow, “Hey, no. Come on.”

“No. ‘M not coming out.”

Blaine rubs his bicep firmly, like he’s a little kid who fell over in the sandpit, as opposed to everything in his life majorly  _ sucking _ , “Finn’s alright, but he’s not you. I like  _ you _ , Kurt, even when you’re not listening to me and instead sulking into a pillow.”

“‘M not sulking.”

“Okay, sure.” Blaine rubs between his shoulder blades, “And you know what? Your dad loves you too.”

Kurt sniffles, “He won’t, not anymore.”

“Why?”

Kurt’s quiet, before mumbling, “They can have  _ guy talk _ . They can talk about things that I can’t even bring myself to care about. Why wouldn’t he hate me when he starts to realize he got saddled with the worst son in Ohio?”

“So, you’re saying you can love your dad, even though you don’t like anything he does?” 

“Yeah, but…”

“But what?”

Kurt pouts into the pillow.

Blaine smiles a little bit, stroking Kurt’s hair softly, like his mom used to, “He can love you even if he doesn’t get you completely. He’s your dad, Kurt, he’s going to love you no matter what.”

“I want you to be right.” Kurt mutters, turning inward to Blaine’s shoulder, “I don’t know what I’ll do if you’re wrong.”

Blaine smiles at him cheekily, “Move here.”

“That would be fun,” Kurt muses, “Only if you keep putting your laundry in the hamper like I tell you to, otherwise I’m being evil Kurt.”

“But I hate evil Kurt.”

Kurt glares at him, propping himself up on his elbows to look at him, “Then put your clothes in the hamper, seriously, Blaine. You’re almost 17.”

“Sorry. I will next time, mother.” Blaine smiles at him smugly, which just makes Kurt plop his head on Blaine’s shoulder, making him grunt with the sudden weight, “Ouch.”

“Shoosh.” Kurt pats his stomach warningly, “Speaking of your mom, did she text back?”

Blaine frowns, “Not yet. If she’s still in Japan, she might be asleep.”

Kurt plays with a button on Blaine’s pyjama shirt, “Probably.”

Neither of them point out the doubt heavy in each other’s tone, Blaine just sighs and turns off the lamp next to his bed and pulls the covers over their bodies gently, reverently. They fall asleep facing each other, hands mingling on Blaine’s stomach.

\---

When Santana gets her lunch from the cafeteria - just a few pieces of lettuce, with one cherry tomato for colour - Quinn sidles up to her with a plate full of chicken and tots that makes Santana’s mouth water a little. 

Quinn notices her salivating, and smiles softly, putting a few tots on her plate, “Here.”

Santana shakes her head, “I really can’t.”

Quinn sighs to herself, “Losing ten pounds in a week is literally impossible.”

“If I don’t eat, then I’ll be fine.” Santana shrugs at her, trying to put the tots back on Quinn’s plate, but she just blocks it with her hand.

“Once you start eating again, it’ll just be gained back.” Quinn moves Santana’s hand back to her plate, the tots spilling out over her lettuce. “I thought you said you wouldn’t be like the other Cheerios.”

“I’m not.” Santana defends herself vehemently, glaring at Quinn.

“Then why are you pushing your  _ friend _ into an eating disorder?” Quinn snarks, which makes Santana gape, stunned. She honestly hasn’t been on the bad side of HBIC Quinn Fabray since Glee started.

“She doesn’t have-”

“Not any more,” Quinn interrupts, “Because I told her to eat. Something you didn’t want her to do.”

Santana frowns, “Losing ten pounds won’t kill her.”

“You’re not listening to me.” Quinn huffs, “This kind of attitude won’t help anyone, it’ll just fester, until you’re counting calories with your bones sticking out.”

Santana is silent, staring at the floor in shame, before staring at her plate with pursed lips. There’s 20 calories in one of these tots. The fact she knows it off by heart makes her feel a little ill. She looks back at Quinn, expression apologetic.

“I’m sorry.” Santana whispers, “I just got so… happy. It’s been a week since I haven’t been pushed around… If I got kicked off, I’d have to get used to being treated like dirt again.”

Quinn rubs her shoulder, and she’s too depressed to even feel excited about the prospect, “Being off the Cheerios made me realize that your real friends, aka, the one that are in Glee club, won’t treat you like dirt just for being yourself. You might think it’s nice now, but you’re just jumping from the frying pan into the fire.”

“I should apologize to Mercedes.”

“Later, I heard she’s preparing for the pep rally.” Quinn smiles at her, before piling a chicken breast onto Santana’s plate, alongside her tots. “We should go eat now.”

\--- 

“Your dad is nice.” Finn mutters to Kurt in the corridor, vacant besides the two of them, everyone else in the gym, preparing for the pep rally. “But he’s not  _ my  _ dad.”

“I guess I can say the same about your mom.”

Finn sighs, “She’s forgetting about him. At least, it feels like he is.”

Kurt stays quiet.

“Are you worried…” Finn looks a little constipated with how hard he’s thinking, Kurt glancing up at his face with a small smirk, “Are you worried that your dad will forget about you?”

His smirk falls to a frown.

Finn immediately takes a step back, “I didn’t mean it like that. Honestly. I meant like, you were left out of the conversation and stuff. You didn’t say much.”

“You were like that with Blaine and I too.” Finn points out.

“You’re getting too observational.” Kurt says mildly.

“Uh, is that a good thing?” Finn mutters quietly.

Kurt stares at him with a bitter smile, “Absolutely not.”

Finn frowns.

“I’ve gotta go.” Kurt replies, slamming his locker closed as he stares at Finn threateningly, “Pep rally.”


	16. Bad Reputation

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> posting this just to say i posted on valentines lel

“Who did it?” Mr Schue holds the Glist up threateningly, the sheet of paper waving around as he gestures with it haphazardly. It’s a stupid list, sure, because who genuinely cares about any the affairs within the Glee club, outside of, like, Rachel? If Quinn wasn’t at the top, and Rachel wasn’t at the bottom, she’d basically be sure it was her. So, it’s a total surprise that all of the people Rachel hates are at the top, that being Quinn, Kurt, and Puck. To further her surprise, Santana sits delicately near the bottom with a +5. That surprised her, mostly because she hasn’t had a single affair whatsoever since she held hands with a 5-year-old Azimio Adams in preschool. Which is ironic, considering. 

There’s a steadfast silence.

“Seriously, guys, if no one comes forward, Figgins will disband the club.”

Santana points at her second nomination for Glist creator immediately, “It was Puck.”

“Back off, I didn’t do shit.”

Santana sneers at him, “Don’t play the denial game, if you confess now, it’ll save us  _ a lot  _ of trouble.”

“It has to be him, his girlfriend is top of the list.” Tina backs her up.

Rachel turns around to glare at him, “And why am I last? Ignoring the fact I refused to put out for you.”

“I didn’t friggin’ do it, okay? I’m a badboy, sure, I like to set shit on fire and put seafood in car aircons, but I got heart. Enough heart not to lie to you about this.” Puck defends, crossing his arms with a pout. 

“Look, between Santana posting that video of Sue, and this, you guys are getting a really bad rep in this school,” Will sighs, before pulling together a stack of music sheets and handing them out.

“That doesn’t sound too bad,” Artie muses, “If people think we’re dangerous, they might stop flushing my glasses down the toilet.”

Santana stares at the music sheet with a grimace, sharing a disgusted look with Mercedes.

“Mr. Schue, this song is whack.”

Schue gives her a smug smile, “No, it’s not. You see…”

Wow, does Santana hate this club.

\---

“Kurt, I’d like for you to be featured in my multimedia project for Glee club this week.” Rachel stops him coming out of Glee, hands crossing at her hips innocently. 

Kurt looks down his nose at her, “I decline.”

“What, why?” Rachel frowns. “I think you’d be a perfect fit!”

“Right. What’s this project even about?” 

Rachel smiles gratefully, “I’m doing a fan-made music video to the 70s classic,  _ Run, Joey, Run _ . I understand that as your position as one of my former love interests that you would be perfect for the role of Joey, considering our obvious chemistry.”

“Rachel, I’m not sure if you’ve noticed this, considering the only thing you can see is that giant honker on your face, but we aren’t dating and you have a boyfriend.” Kurt snarks.

Rachel frowns, “No, I know. But I just think that… having you in my project will make a more profound statement!”

“What’s the statement?”

“Well… I haven’t decided yet.”

Kurt snorts, “Right, well, have fun casting another guy for your project, because I’m not wasting my Saturday nights filming a ‘fanmade music video’. That sounds like the carpool lane to loserdom.”

\---

“Why are you all standing here in the dark?”

Artie, Tina, Mercedes, and for some reason, Blaine, stare at Santana a little angrily. Okay, she didn’t think being a Cheerio and possibly trying to goad Mercedes into an eating disorder was reason for excommunication, but she’s been mistaken other times.

“This is a meeting for people  _ not  _ on the Glist, thank you very much.” Tina turns her nose up. 

Santana frowns, “Blaine’s right there.”

“We can’t get rid of him.” Mercedes sighs.

Blaine shrugs, “I’m a simple guy - I hear that they’re going to do an MC Hammer song in the library and suddenly my feet were glued to the floor and I couldn’t even leave.”

“I don’t see why I couldn’t at least be invited.” Santana stalks in, putting her hands on her hips threateningly.

Artie pushes his glasses up onto his face nervously, “N-no offense, Santana, but you’re  _ a lot  _ cooler than you think right now. You got onto the Glist  _ and  _ you’re a Cheerio…”

Mercedes winces a little at the wording, “You’re my bestie, Santana, but seriously, you’re on your way to being top dog around here, alongside all those other Cheerios.”

“Except for the fact I’m not allowed to get changed with the other Cheerios just in case I perv on them.” Santana snarls, “I’m not even allowed to be a base because none of the girls want me to look up their skirt.”

“Santana…” Mercedes sighs.

Santana shakes her head, “No, I get it. I’m too popular to be a gleek, but too gay to be popular. God,  _ fuck  _ this.”

She runs out, arms wrapping around herself as she pushes around the people in the student body, and into the bathroom, pushing herself into a cubicle and breathing heavily to herself. Santana knows she’s somewhat popular now, if popular means no one actually trying to bully you, or throw slurs at you, but she didn’t consider that she’s somehow popular enough to be fucking pushed out of her own friend group like some kind of pest. There’s  _ seriously  _ nowhere for her to fit in this damn town.

\---

“Look, if I don’t get someone to confess to the Glist, the club is over,” Schue starts, trying to look threatening despite the fact that his shoelaces are untied, “So, I think you should just admit it now and save us all the trouble.”

Santana looks up from her nails, “Why would I make the Glist? I hate everyone on that stupid paper. I didn’t even know Matt’s name till today.”

\---

“You’d have everything to gain by making a list, especially where you ended up on it.” Will mutters, watching Blaine play with the stress ball on his desk. 

Blaine throws the ball between his hands aimlessly, before notices Will’s gaze, “Oh, you actually think I made it? No, I didn’t, I actually thought it was Kurt for a while but then I realize the Glist is really stupid. Kurt wouldn’t do that.”

\---

“Blaine basically ratted you out,” Will starts, subtly trying to angle his lamp into Kurt’s eyes, making him squint angrily. “I know why you’d make it - to make you and Quinn look better. I’m sure you’re both losing popularity because of this whole baby business. Just confess now and I won’t even put it on your permanent record.”

“If I may talk without that lamp blinding me?” Kurt leans over and pushes the lamp back onto Will’s desk with a grimace, “Well, I’m sure that all the cop shows you’ve been watching to distract you from that pathetic loneliness that clings to you like a second skin provide you with a lot of entertainment, but that obviously doesn’t translate to real life, Mr. Schue. This half-baked idea to use paltry TV show methods to interrogate a bunch of 16-year-olds over a piece of paper might make sense in that gelled head of yours, but I can tell you now that I didn’t make the Glist, and no amount of light in my eyes will convince me otherwise.”

Will sighs.

\---

“Thanks for the help, Ellen.” Sue pats her on the shoulder with a smile, walking past with a chipper skip in her step, which makes Santana glare at her, confused.

“Just because I’m a lesbian doesn’t mean I’m like Ellen, and it’s basically homophobia to suggest so,” She snarks, before furrowing her brow, “And what exactly did I do?”

Sue stops, and looks at her with a cunning smile, “Despite what Aretha thinks, I don’t actually believe that she actually posted the  _ ‘Physical’  _ video. That type of initiative, ambition and competent thought is capable of only a few people, and usually, they’re the underlings of one devastatingly gorgeous Sue Sylvester.”

“You’re thanking me because I posted a video that humiliated you?”

Sue smiles at her, sharp, “I’ve never been humiliated once in my life, and especially not now.”

Santana stares at her, mouth agape, before shaking her head and turning to her locker, “Okay then.”

“You have an untapped potential that needs to be nurtured, Santana,” Sue says vaguely, “It’ll forever plague my conscious that I didn’t get to you before this whole lesbian phase. But, you’ll be over it in a few months, I’m sure. And when that happens, you’re mine.”

Santana turns to glare at her, but Sue just walks off, leaving her watching her retreating back with an expression laced in misery. What a vote of confidence.


	17. Laryngytis

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> long ass chapter . sorry ;-;

“Holy shit, you’re bald.” Kurt greets, stunned, walking into the Glee practice room with his eyes wide open. Blaine peeks from over his shoulder, and makes a similar face.

“My mom found a mole when she was washing my hair on Friday.” He mutters in response.

Kurt furrows his brow, “Your mom still washes your hair?”

“She thought it was cancer, and then she started nagging me all the way to the doctor’s, and they had to shave my hair to get a closer look at it. I feel like a total dork now,” Puck whines, “And it wasn’t even cancer! It was just a friggin’ freckle! They maimed me over a freckle!”

“You can always grow it back.” Blaine mentions mildly.

Puck scoffs, “Are you kidding me? That’ll take all summer. It’s only been a day and people are already looking me in the eye. I’m still Puckasaurus the Sex Shark even without the stupid ‘hawk, right?”

“Wow, you’re not going to get laid at all for at least a year, huh?” Kurt’s eyes widen, “For some reason, the mohawk completely distracted me from how fucking  _ whiny _ you are. It must be because of the fact it’s a complete affront to good taste.”

“Ugh,” Puck punches Kurt in the arm, irritated, “Why do I bother telling you anything? You’re a total bitch.”

\---

“You’re going to get up here, and you’re going to sing your heart out with a song that you think best represents you.” Will replies, pointing a finger at the bulk of them, before the bell rings, and Santana and Mercedes both walk out together thoughtfully.

“Well, I got no clue what to sing.” Santana sighs, “I guess I’ll just go for Meredith Brooks’ ‘ _ Bitch _ ’ or something, that’d work, right?”

Mercedes shrugs, “I’m just gonna sing a  _ Dreamgirls  _ song, because I want to. He won’t notice that it’s not my ‘true voice’, right?”

Santana smiles at her, “Don’t even worry about it, I’ll totally back you up on that.”

She smiles back at her, before noticing Puck staring at her, and excusing herself immediately. Santana glares at both of them, but, really, she’s not that upset. Admittedly, she’s not too sure of herself recently. It’s difficult for her to think of any song that could represent herself; at least, not entirely. She feels like she’s split up into thirty different pieces that all fit together quite well, and then she gets to the ‘lesbian’ piece and there’s nowhere to put it. It’s like an anomaly. A few months ago, it felt like her only piece, because to other people, that’s what she was. She was  _ the _ lesbian. But she’s been given an opportunity recently to be more than that; she’s a cheerleader, she’s a bitch, she’s a gleek, but nobody actually  _ wants  _ her to be a lesbian. Being a lesbian has caused her so much strife in the past, like getting bullied and her abuela completely turning away from her. Nowadays, she doesn’t even know if she should even try to fit the lesbian piece in any more. What good would it even do?

\---

Kurt watches his dad and Finn push through the bustling crowd together. A football game. He’s losing his dad, and he knows it. But he doesn’t know how to get him back, either. He’s been trying to be a better son ever since freshman year. He’s in Cheerios, he goes out to parties, he’s… straight. He’s a  _ normal  _ teenager _.  _ He’s been a perfect, straight son, and his dad doesn’t even care. What more does he need to be? Should he have gone into football? Be taller? What does he need to do to be loved like Finn? 

It’s not fair, and the worst part is that he doesn't even know what to change to fit in any more.

\---

Santana gets home a little earlier than usual, less traffic on the roads, or something like that. She doesn't really know, she was staring at the seat in front of her for most of the trip and trying to figure out her ‘voice’ for Glee. She moves to open the front door, and is surprised to find it unlocked, and as she slips into the house, she hears her mama’s voice on the phone in the lounge room.

“-on’t appreciate what you’re doing.” She replies firmly, “She’s your granddaughter. You can’t do this to her - to us.” 

There’s a pause, “Well, I’m not going to force her to be something she isn’t just for you to be a part of the family -  _ our  _ family _. _ ”

“Of course I miss you. You’re my mother. But if you’re going to be bigoted towards my daughter, I don’t want you as a mother.”

Santana stares at the floor, shocked, and puts herself flat against the wall of the lounge room, out-of-view. 

“Santana loves you, I love you.” Her mama says, choking a little, “But I’m not going to see you if you act like this. I’m sorry.”

There’s a distinct sound of the home phone hanging up, and her mama’s tired sigh.

Santana swallows the knot in her throat, before throwing her bag down loudly, and calling out, “Mama. I’m home.”

\---

Kurt throws the bag on the floor haphazardly, pushing past Blaine into the hallway, “I’m living here now. Hey, roomie.”

Blaine’s house is massive, a mansion surrounded by country roads, with a foyer, maid’s quarters and a pool. Most of which go unused, because the only person living there most of the time is Blaine. His family is old money, or at least, his father is. No matter their money, in Kurt’s opinion, they're both awful. But, at least Blaine’s mother comes home every few months. Now that Kurt lives here, the house will be a little less empty, and Blaine loves to have him around, so he won’t even snitch. He’ll probably be super happy about it - he’s asked him before, so the idea is definitely on the table. He could hide in the old maid’s pantry and no one would even notice him for at least a few weeks, so his parents and Cooper won’t even realize. Foolproof plan.

Blaine jaw drops, “Wait, what? What happened with your dad? You can’t leave him alone!”

Well, that’s not a part of the plan.

Kurt frowns, “He’s not alone, he has Carole and Finn.”

He groans in response, “You can’t be on about that again.”

“I’m not ‘on’ about anything.” Kurt sniffs, “It’s a constant fact of life I cannot avoid. Ignoring it is just immature.”

“Kurt, you know I like having you around, but you can’t live here just to get away from your dad,” Blaine sighs, picking up Kurt’s bag and trying to push it back into his hands, but Kurt just shoves his hands in his pockets with a pout, “Kurt. You need to talk to him.”

“I don’t need to talk about anything, what I need to do is have a shower. Seriously, Sue works me like a mule.” Kurt grumbles, letting the duffle bag drop to the floor, before stomping up the stairs without looking back. Blaine just watches him leave with an exasperated face, before moving to his knees and searching the smallest compartment of Kurt’s duffle with a sigh.

\---

“Kurt? Thank god, I just came home and you’re gone, and your room looks like it’s been ransacked or something, are you alright?”

“Hey… Burt…” Blaine starts hesitantly, “Look, I have Kurt here, at my place, but he’s showering right now so he can’t talk.”

“Blaine.” Burt’s voice turns rough, “Why is my kid over there when his room’s lookin’ like it’s been hit by a tornado?”

“He’s moving in, apparently. Uh, surprise?” Blaine replies weakly, voice distinctly afraid, “Look, I  _ really  _ don’t want to meddle, and if Kurt knows I’m snitching or whatever, he’ll bite my head off, but you two are… really awesome. Like, seriously, I want you as my dad, and you know, if you were my dad, I would have a lot less issues. because, like, wow, seriously-”

“Look, Blaine, get to the point, why the hell is my  _ son  _ moving in with you?”

Blaine’s mouth shuts comically, before he clears his throat, “He’s really upset that you and Finn can like, connect, but he thinks you two… can’t, at least, not as much.”

Burt makes a frustrated noise on the other end of the phone, “Damn it. I knew he’d be upset about that.”

“Don’t get mad at him, please,” Blaine pleads, “Or, like, me, for that matter. It’s really hard on him, just… everything. You know him. You know how hard he tries to fit in, and now he’s being, like, outclassed in his own home.”

Burt grunts, and Blaine imagines doing that thing where he takes his hat off just to rub his head, “I’m not mad at either of you. I’m mad at myself for not even noticin’...”

He pauses. 

“God, I knew something was up, but y’know, I completely ignored it because I was tryna get to know Finn,” Burt grumbles, before his voice turns sad, “He’s always been so much like his mom, y’know? Different? Bigger than Ohio? I just… I don’t even want him to be like Ohio, because it’s like he’s shooting himself in the foot with tryin’ to be me or- or I guess, Finn, too. He’s not like us, and I  _ don’t  _ want him to be.”

“I get that.” Blaine murmurs into the phone, quiet and thoughtful. There’s a lot that’s left unsaid.

Burt chuckles bitterly into the receiver, “I’m sorry for unloading on you, kid. God, I’m gettin’ pathetic in my old age. Look, Kurt can stay there for the night, I just want him to be, y’know, safe. Know where he is. I’ll… I’ll try and talk to him tomorrow.”

“I…” Blaine sighs, “I really envy your guys’ relationship. Seriously, you’ll be fine soon, I know it.”

_ You have to be fine.  _ Blaine thinks,  _ Because if you guys can’t get it together, what hope do I have? _

\---

Santana walks into Glee with her head tilted down, staring demurely at the floor, completely missing the shocked stares of the rest of the club. 

“Oh my god. Quinn cloned herself.” Artie whispers in shock to Tina, who stares at Santana with her jaw on the floor. 

Will notices the rest of the club’s gaze, and turns to Santana with a shocked expression, “Santana, you feeling okay?”

Santana sniffs, and brushes down her flowery gown gently, “I’m feeling fine, Schue. In fact, I’d like to perform my solo for this week’s assignment right now, if I can.”

Will looks dubious, but gestures to the floor, “Uh, okay.”

Santana looks at the band, “If you will.”

The music starts, and Santana sings. Selena, and her discography, was an important thing in her house growing up. Her abuela loved her music, but there’s a  _ real  _ reason that she’s up here in Glee club, singing  _ “La Carcacha” _ . She  _ relates  _ to it, because if she had a boyfriend, she probably wouldn’t care if he has a shitty car. It’s like someone finally composed her soul into a song. If her abuela likes the song, then that’s just an added bonus. That’s all.

As she sings, Will looks more and more conflicted, as the club grows more and more confused. She finishes the song with a bow. Everyone claps hesitantly. 

“Thank you.” She moves to sit down, but Will stops her.

He frowns, “Santana, do you really think that song expresses who you are?”

“Yes, pretty well.”

“Well, it really didn’t sound like it. It sounded like someone else’s song, to be quite honest.” 

“Look, I don’t get why everyone has to box me into some stupid stereotype - I’m more than that.” Santana grumbles, shaking her head, “I’m more than what you think of me.”

Will laughs softly, “I know that, Santana, but do you? Because that song sounded like you’re trying to  _ forget  _ who you actually are.”

She glares at him, before realizing that her hair’s getting messed up and her headband is sliding off her head. She rights it, and returns to a prim and proper stance, but keeping the glare on Will as he walks off and dismisses class. 

The rest of the class walks off with a distinct air of confusion, but Blaine slides up next to her with a grin.

“What?” She asks.

Blaine shrugs, “Nothing, but your song was super cool. I mean, I didn’t understand it. But it was cool.”

“Thanks.” 

“Look, I’m not busy tonight, and like, you’re one of the few girls at this school I’ve barely flirted with, and I know I didn’t because you were always a lesbian, but now you’re giving me total bicurious vibes, so if you want to go on a date sometime, I’d be totally down with it.” Blaine finger-guns at her, before walking off into the stream of people. Santana watches him with pursed lips, thoughtful, before staring at the floor. 

\---

Kurt stalks out of Cheerios practice with a firm scowl, pulling his bag over his shoulder with the streetlights covering him in the evening light. Ignoring the sudden heterosexuality of a certain Glee club member, it’s been an uneventful day. He’s prepared to rush to Blaine’s house, put some popcorn in the microwave, and relax on the lounge together, and pretend they’re domestic partners instead of occasional fuckbuddies.

He’s always been a person with big dreams.

When he gets close enough to his car, he recognizes his dad’s figure leaning on his car.

He squints.

“Finn got out a few hours ago.” He says, anger evident.

Burt turns to him, “I’m here for you, Kurt. The hell were you thinkin’, running off to Blaine’s like that? Without even tellin’ me?”

Kurt adjusts his bag strap nervously, but still not lacking anger, “Dammit. I knew Blaine would’ve snitched.”

“It’s not about snitching,” Burt sighs and rubs his head under his baseball cap, “God, look at me, I told myself I wouldn’t get mad and what am I doing? Getting mad.”

Kurt stays silent, feeling like a child, getting yelled at for painting on the walls again with his Mom’s nail polish. They were so mad at him, but then his mom explained that it goes on nails, not walls, and it was fine again. It was so much easier back then. His mom can’t explain that Kurts belong in Blaines’ house and not his dads’. One, because it’s a stupid statement, and two, because she’s stuck in Lima Cemetary six feet under soil. 

He then frowns, “If you’re just going to yell at me, at least let me put my bag away.”

Burt chuckles wetly, “I’m not mad at you, I’m mad at myself.”

“Kurt, you… you’ll never understand how hard I’ll work to be good for you, how much I’ve gotta change to be the perfect father you need.” Burt starts, “Is being a father to Finn easier? Yes. And I’m not gonna say it’s not, because you know it’s easier and I don’t want to lie to you.”

“I know it’s easier to be Finn’s dad,” Kurt chokes up a little, “I know that. That’s why I’m gonna live with Blaine and make it easier for everyone.”

Burt grunts, “You don’t need to do anything to be easier for me, Kurt. You don’t need to change, or try to be… this guy, that you’re so obviously trying to be for some reason. It’s my job as your dad to love you, Kurt, and I’m going to keep loving you, no matter what.”

“I love you too,” Kurt murmurs through wet breaths, “That’s why I want to make it easier for you. Don’t you get that?”

Burt puts a firm hand on his shoulder, “Kurt, look at me, what’d I say, kid? I don’t want you to lift a finger. I just want you to be yourself, and stop hiding yourself away the moment conflict happens. All we’ve got in this life is each other, okay? That and a majority ownership in a tire store, that’s all we got. If we stick to that, we’ll be alright.”

Kurt lets out a sob, which he immediately tries to muffle with his hand, making his dad pull him into a hug, something he hasn’t experienced since middle school, before he realized that being treated like a kid was uncool and something to hide. 

“I missed you, Dad,” He cries into his flannel. “I  _ really  _ did.”

He rubs his back, “Hey, hey, no, I missed you too.” 

\---

Santana finds kissing boys to be a little strange, and a little boring, honestly. She was kind of expecting some form of pleasure, if not, like, fireworks behind the eyes, maybe just the feeling of listening to a song you don’t mind. It’s not the best thing ever, but it’s nice being close to someone, she thinks.

“Did you have pizza before coming here?” Santana asks, disconnecting their lips with a wet pop.

Blaine smiles brightly, “How’d you know?”

“I can taste the pepperoni.”

Blaine purses his lips thoughtfully, “That would explain a lot.”

Santana sits up, Blaine straddling her thighs and leaning up with her out of necessity, “Can I ask a question?”

“Yeah, sure.”

Santana frowns a little, “What… What do girl’s lips taste like?”

Wow, she sounds like an uber-virgin.

Blaine just hums, “Lip gloss, mostly. Wet, which is cool, if you like that. Oh my god!”

Santana is taken aback by high his voice went, staring at him with wide eyes as he clambers off her lap and starts to investigate her pop’s vinyl shelf. He’s thumbing through his collection with a reverent expression.

“Oh my god, is this a first issue ‘ _ For Your Pleasure _ ’ vinyl?” He slips it out of the shelf, staring at it with a big grin. She’s feeling a little neglected on the couch, but isn’t that fussed.

Pulling her knees up to her chest, “No clue, it’s my pop’s collection.”

Blaine looks at it back-to-front, “This is amazing. He has great taste.”

“Who has great taste?” Speak of the devil, “Santana, you have a boy up here?”

Blaine grins at him and clambers over the rugs and sofa to stick out a hand in greeting, “It’s great to meet you, Mr. Lopez. You have amazing taste.”

“Thanks, I think.” He looks past Blaine to frown at Santana, “You two friends?”

“We’re dating.” Santana shrugs her shoulders.

Her pop looks stunned, “Okay, and I am now confused.”

Blaine is ignorant to the tense environment, bounding over back to her pop’s shelf, and pulling up the vinyl to show him, “Is this a first issue?”

Her pop looks at it, “I think so, I would have bought it in the 70s.”

Blaine just gapes at it, staring at it in his hands, like it was gold, “That’s amazing.”

Her pop returns his shocked gaze to Santana, who is currently hating her life, because she brings a date home once and he apparently has a crush on her pop instead of her, “Well. Your ma said dinner will be ready soon. Is your… boyfriend staying?”

“Wait, can I?” Blaine asks.

Santana glares at him, but sighs, “Fine, whatever. Just be sure to tell my mama we were having sex.”

\---

After Blaine is rushed out of the house, despite apparently making best friends with her pop in the meantime, gushing over his music taste and his model boat collection. They’ve somehow made kindred souls, her pop remarking that he should be brought by more often, but her mama glares at him with a fiery gaze. She isn’t happy by the sudden sexuality change, and never in her life would she anticipate pushback from her family for coming out as straight, but she imagines there are weirder things to happen.

Santana sits in her bedroom, thumbing over the dial button on her phone with a tense expression, before swallowing the lump in her throat and pressing it resolutely.

It rings for a few moments, before there’s a stern, “I thought I told you not to contact me, Santana.”

“You were right.” Santana says, and it tastes like ash in her mouth, “It should be a secret. I’m better now, Abuela.”

“You don’t like girls anymore?” 

She shakes her head, before realizing her abuela can’t see her, “No, I have a boyfriend now. His name is Blaine, you would like him. He’s very nice.”

“Is that so?” Her abuela hums into the phone.

“I love him.” Santana sighs, “And he’s good to me, and I want you to meet him soon.”

\---

“I need you to meet me after school.” Santana stresses, grabbing Blaine’s arm firmly between her hands. 

He looks a little confused, “Why?”

“My abuela, I told her we’re dating.” She sighs, “We are, aren’t we?”

Blaine frowns at her, pulling Santana’s hands off his arm gently, “Santana, look, I know you think you’re… well, tricking me into dating you. But I knew what I was getting myself into, and it’s not… well, it’s not a normal relationship. I’m not going to be your beard.”

Santana glares at him, “The hell, Anderson? What would you know about me?”

“I  _ know  _ that you’re a lesbian, Santana.” He glares back, “You know that too, deep down, and I’m not going to help you trick yourself into thinking you’re straight any more. You don’t think I know how it feels when someone isn’t interested in making out with me? Because that’s what it felt like last night.”

“What, so you’re just going to make out with me, and then dump me?” Santana snarks, “You’re an asshole.”

“And, even though I know you don’t want me to, I think you’re awesome.” Blaine smiles at her, “But you’re awesome because you don’t take any shit from anyone. You need to be… well, you need to be true to yourself. If you’re trying to impress your abuela, you shouldn’t be lying to yourself, or to her, to be accepted.”

Santana grumbles, trying to wipe away small tears as they come, “You don’t get it. I  _ love  _ her, and I don’t want to lose her over something as stupid and miniscule as this… God, everyone in my family  _ needs  _ her, but they won’t even have her,  _ just  _ because I like girls. I don’t want to be the reason that my mama doesn’t have her own mama… Look, if we just pretend to date when she’s around, then she’ll come back.”

Blaine smiles softly at her, “I’m going to give you the bitter pill to swallow here, but if she doesn’t accept you, Santana, then that’s her issue, and there’s nothing you can do to change that. Seriously, you can spend the next twenty years, unhappy with some guy, and people are going to realize you’re not being true to yourself, and then they’ll start to hate you for it.”

“God,” Santana laughs wetly to herself, “I can’t believe I’m getting patronized to by a fucking football player, what is my life?”

Blaine smiles softly and pats her shoulder soothingly, “If you’re getting mad at me, I’m probably doing something right.”

“She’s going to hate me.” Santana sniffs, “Inviting her down here just to tell I’m still an abomination.”

“You’re not an abomination,” Blaine sighs to himself, “You’re just gay, Santana.”

\---

Santana feels like she’s about to keel over from nerves. It’s a little embarrassing, standing in the auditorium, almost an hour before her abuela is supposed to come. She keeps thinking about what Blaine said. It makes her feel a little crazy to acknowledge how much comfort Blaine actually provided to her. He’s always been this lapdog with no real personality, latching onto people more popular than him like parasites for some form of relevance, at least in her eyes. But, he’s not too bad. Enough to make her wonder why such a prick like Kurt somehow got two of the more interesting students at this school as his best friends. 

Some things are just difficult to understand, she realizes. 

Losing her abuela feels like a phantom limb, this constant pang in her chest that never really goes away. She sees films on TV that she’s watched with her after church, and she can imagine everything she said to each scene. It’s like she’s actually there. Her abuela is an integral part of her personality. There are things she thinks that she  _ knows  _ were influenced by her abuela, and it’s hard to acknowledge that she’s really gone, and that she’s really left her alone over something as inconsequential as the fact she’d rather kiss girls over boys. She’s not even 17 yet, kissing is about the extent she’ll be ready for right now, but it’s still enough for her abuela to practically disown her. It makes her so mad, but an anger she tires of easily, turning into a bone-deep exhaustion. 

Her abuela disowned her mama too, which isn’t even fair. What did her mama even do wrong? Raise a lesbian? It’s nothing to get rid of her for. She’s a good woman, it’s not her fault Santana turned out this way and she shouldn’t be punished for it. 

Santana crouches on the floor and bitterly smiles. Schue wanted to sing a song about her true self this week. Well, she can do that.

“ _ It's funny how I find myself in love with you, _ ” Santana sings out, her voice echoing around the stage, piercing the silence, “ _ If I could buy my reasoning, I'd pay to lose.” _

She continues singing, feeling like she’s screaming the lyrics, and the crowd remains empty, silent ghosts watching her as she walks around the stage.

“ _ Caught in the crowd, it never ends.”  _ Santana finishes, her chest sucking in desperate breaths, stuck in the middle of the stage watching the shadows of her moving form cast across the auditorium.

“You always sing so beautifully.” Her mama’s voice calls from off stage, and when she swivels to face her, she walks out, sensible heels clacking across the floor. Santana gapes at her.

“What are you doing here?”

She hums, “Imagine my surprise when I get a phone call from my mother congratulating me for setting my daughter on the straight and narrow.”

Santana grumbles, and looks away, “You weren’t meant to know.”

“What are you thinking, Santana?” She asks, pleading obvious in her voice, “Dressing like this, dating that boy? That’s not you.”

“Look, I know now.” Santana sighs, “I was going to tell abuela that I wasn’t straight, and that she has to get over it.”

“So this is all over her?” She frowns, “Changing yourself for her?”

She crosses her arms defensively.

“That woman is awful.” Her mama remarks tiredly.

Santana glares at her, “Don’t say that.”

“She is, Santana.” She replies sternly, “She’s always been so stuck-up. Everything is a matter of honour to her, and anything human is considered weak. I know you idolize her, Santana, but you really shouldn’t. She’s fallible, and she’s not a good role model.”

“She only hates me because I’m a lesbian,” Santana mutters, “If I wasn’t… like this, she would still be, well,  _ around _ .”

“That’s not true at all.” Her mama disagrees, “You’ve been too young to see how she really is, but trust me when I say she’s always been like this. Relentlessly disappointed. You could be straight, but she’d still hate that boy of yours, the one you were apparently having sex with last night, finishing suspiciously just in time for dinner, might I add, and you’d end up trading boy for boy until you find one she likes. You know how I know that? Because that’s what I did until I realized I don’t  _ live  _ for her, and you shouldn’t either. She’s hated your pop for so long, because he’s a little bit of a wimp, you know, something about not being a real man. She didn’t talk to me for three months when we got married.”

Santana looks at her feet, “Well, he  _ is _ kind of a wimp.”

“Yes, I know, but I love him, and I don’t care that she thinks the shelf full of vinyls is a waste of money, and the display case full of his model boats is evidence of him being a wuss. If I cared about what she thought, I’d never get anywhere.” 

“I know that, but it doesn’t stop me from hurting.” Santana mutters, “I still want her back.”

Her mama sighs, coming forward to rub the side of her arms firmly, “I can’t help with that, not really. Even as your mother, I can’t fix everything. But, Santana, you need to stop torturing yourself over things she’s done. It has nothing to do with you and everything to do with her.”

Santana’s head falls into her mother’s shoulders, and she turns her face into her neck with wet eyes. She breathes in softly, and starts to cry, feeling her mama’s hands rub up and down her back soothingly. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> songs i plagiarized for my own use  
> \- la carcacha by selena  
> \- it's my life by talk talk (no doubt cover)
> 
> taking a short break to catch up on writing s2 because WOW is it getting long. ive only written up to duets and its already half the size of this fic. its embarrassing, seriously.


	18. Dream On

Blaine usually doesn’t like interacting with Rachel. It’s nothing that she does exactly, well, no, that’s a lie. She does a lot that Blaine doesn’t like. He understands that, distantly, he and Rachel are like kindred souls, but he doesn’t want to admit that. So, he usually avoids her. But, when he sees Rachel scrapbooking in the library, cutting out printed photos of Broadway stars and glueing them next to random maps in America, he becomes a little intrigued.

“Hey, Rachel.” He greets, startling Rachel, pulling out a seat next to her and plopping himself down without much fanfare. She stares at him, a little shocked, before returning to her project.

“Hello, Blaine.”

“What are you doing?”

Rachel hums, “I am creating an infographic for Jesse on my true parenthood. I hope it makes all of the options and their reasons why a little more obvious to him. To be quite honest with you, Blaine, I don’t think he understands quite how much star power my lineage holds.”

Blaine squints, looking at the Patti LuPone picture, a little stunned, “Patti LuPone is your mom?”

Rachel smiles to herself, “Yes, well, one of them, at least.”

“You have two dads and…” Blaine mentally estimates the amount of pages in her scrapbook, “twenty-eight moms?”

Rachel frowns, turning her nose into the air, “They aren’t all related to me, just… maybe one of them.”

Rachel pushes the scrapbook in front of him, “Page twelve is Barbara Streisand. We have similar bone structure and our noses are practically identical. We have Liza Minelli on page three, and Bernadette Peters on page four.” 

Blaine flips through it, and raises an eyebrow, “All you have for Kristin Chenoworth is you think you’d make a good duet if you sung “ _ Maybe This Time _ ” together.”

Rachel sniffs, and pulls back the scrapbook, “Well, musical chemistry is very important as a mother-daughter duo.”

Blaine chuckles a little to himself.

Rachel frowns, “I know you think it’s weird to do something like this. You’re… probably making fun of me in your head.”

“No, I’m not.” Blaine explains, amusement obvious, “It’s sweet you’re trying so hard to find your mom. Your dads won’t tell you?”

“They haven’t said anything about her.” Rachel shakes her head, “I don't want to ask them, just in case their feelings are hurt.”

“Wow, that’s so unlike you.”

Rachel squints her eyes in confusion, but continues to barrel on, “I just don’t want to think that my mom’s out there, but doesn’t even care about me, or want anything to do with me.”

Blaine frowns at her.

“If any of these Broadway legends were my mom, they’d have excuses to give me up, right?” Rachel looks at him for validation, “They didn’t abandon me because they didn’t want me. They were just… busy.”

“Rachel, if your mom’s out there…” Blaine sighs, giving her a bitter smile, “I’m sure she didn’t give you up because she hated you. Maybe she was like Quinn, and couldn’t afford to keep you.”

Rachel shakes her head, “No. I don’t want my mom to be like that. She’s a good woman, and she had a good reason to give me up. She  _ must  _ have.”

Blaine frowns at her, and is suddenly reminded of why he usually pretends he can’t hear her when she speaks to him, “Well, I’m sure you can prepare yourself for disappointment on your own.”

Rachel glares at him, eyes following him as he gets up from the table with a sigh, “You wouldn’t understand it. You’re not adopted. It’s different, knowing that you have a parent out there that gave you up, and you don’t even know why. You  _ want  _ a good reason.”

Blaine stops, just a moment, before looking down at her, smile bitter, “Yeah, I guess you’re right. I wouldn’t get how that feels.”

\---

“Do you think my dad thinks about me?” Blaine asks, laying back on his bed with his arms behind his head, staring at the ceiling while Kurt sits between his legs and texts Quinn, “Or, I don’t know. Do you think he remembers that I’m still at home and that he should check up on me?”

Kurt puts his phone away, “Where did this come from?”

“I don’t know.” Blaine sighs, “Something Rachel said today, I guess.”

“You shouldn’t listen to her.” Kurt jostles his knee gently, “She’s poison to the brain.”

“That’s not true, and you know it.” He sighs, “She was telling me that it’s hard to know there are parents out there… that left you, and you don’t know why.”

Kurt is silent for a moment, but answers, “You’re reminded of your mom and dad?”

“A little bit.” Blaine mutters, “They’ll come back for summer, I think. But I just wish they’d come back more often sometimes. That’s stupid, isn’t it? I bet everyone else would be so jealous to know I get to have the house all to myself all the time, but I just feel… alone. Especially when you’re not here.”

“It’s not stupid.” Kurt mutters, “When I lost my mom, I missed her so much, like a phantom limb, but, you know, I knew that she, well,  _ died _ . Even then, I still knew she loved me. She didn’t leave me by choice, let’s just put it that way. But, y’know, it’s different for you, Blaine. Seriously, you have parents out there that you don’t even know if they love you, but all you know is that they choose everyday to leave you on their own terms.”

Blaine sits up, and shakes his head, “I don’t know. I mean, they wouldn’t leave me this nice house if they hated me, Kurt. My mom still sends me money in the mail and all the bills are paid. It’s not like they completely hate me, they obviously still care enough to take care of me.”

Kurt just shakes his head, “Blaine, don’t defend them. To your dad, this place is just like spare change and you know that. You’re allowed to be upset, or feel like they genuinely don’t care about you, because they don’t treat you like they do.”

“I just don’t want to feel like they actually hate me.” Blaine just mumbles in response, and Kurt moves to grab his hand gently, curling their fingers together.

“You know you’re always welcome to be a part of my family, Blaine.” Kurt whispers, “I know that it doesn’t help you right now, but I just want you to know that.”

Blaine smiles softly, “No, it does help. Your dad is awesome.”

“I know.” Kurt sighs, “Wow, I feel like an asshole for crying about my awesome dad when you’re here stressing over the fact your mom hasn’t texted in a week.”

Blaine frowns, “Don’t compare us.”

“Blaine, honey, I know I was kind of overreacting with my dad, I can see that now. You can tell me I was being a drama queen, I’d actually prefer it if you did,” Kurt laughs, swaying their hands together, “Seriously, I’m not going to get mad at you and book a one-way plane to Japan just because you upset me.”

Blaine pouts, staying silent.

“I know you don’t believe me, and I know that I don’t act like it sometimes, but I’m  _ never  _ saying goodbye to you. You  _ can’t  _ get rid of me. You and me? We’re a forever thing, so you better get used to it. I’ll be sneaking into bed with you and your wife and living in a bachelor pad on your property until I’m grey and wrinkled.” Kurt laughs, trying to look into Blaine’s downturned eyes.

“No, you’re getting your own main room on the ground floor.” Blaine mumbles, “My wife is gonna have to share me with you.”

Kurt chuckles again, nuzzling their conjoined hands, “Yeah?”

“Yeah.”


	19. Funk

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am an episode 20 funk truther. also i needed to set up things for theatricality so im also manipulating canon to be sneaky >:3

Santana can barely watch Jesse’s performance between the steam that’s rushing out of her ears, glaring at Rachel, who looks struck and completely depressed with the outcome. Sure, she’s smug that she was right, as per usual, but it’s not exactly something she wants to be right over. Not only was Jesse front row seat to all of their planning for Regionals, but he’s also front row seat in watching Rachel’s heart break. She hates Rachel, but no one deserves this much public humiliation. 

Jesse finishes his song, chest heaving with desperate breaths, but smiling as he says, “Thanks for letting us borrow your auditorium, guys. It's quaint.”

Vocal Adrenaline stomps off stage, leaving the rest of the club in shock. 

“Rachel.” Santana starts, stepping to her, but she just shakes her head.

“Don’t.” Rachel replies, voice weak, before running off without a second glance.

Santana watches her leave with a frown.

\---

“Alright, guys, I want to talk to you about regrets.” Will starts the lesson off, unusually solemn, but it fits the mood. The entire club has been a little glum ever since Jesse left. Santana grimaces. They’ve well and truly funkified them. “Who has them?”

“Giving my heart to Jesse just for him to crush it like the stage floor at a performance of Stomp.” Rachel mutters.

“Replying to that message on Facebook about questioning lesbians in Lima.” Santana snarks.

Quinn sighs, “Thinking "trust me" was a sensible birth control option.”

Will just nods his head, “We all have them, I regret living in a relationship that wasn't working. Letting her put me in these deep funks, and not fighting back.”

Santana’s a little creeped out by the vent session her teacher is giving as a  _ lesson, _ but then explains that as a team, they need to counteract the funk they’re in and attempt to funkify the other team, and that sounds cool and all, but Santana’s getting a little grossed out by how many times they’ve said funk in the last week. Well, if she gets to bully some Vocal Adrenaline freaks without consequences, she’ll funk whenever she wants. 

\---

Quinn’s performance is a little offensive. Not really on a personal level, but definitely on a level of just… good taste. It’s kind of egregious, but the girl has some serious balls to actually both choreograph, and then proceed to perform it, so Santana’s a little enamoured with it. 

When Quinn sits down, leaving the rest of the class either snickering, or shocked, Santana uses the silence to speak up, “You know what, I’m going to say it, because the rest of you are total pussies, but that was badass, Quinn.”

Quinn looks at her in surprise, “Really?”

Santana smiles at her, “Yeah.”

Quinn smiles back at her, before looking back at her lap, blushing a little.

\---

When Mercedes opens the door, she recoils at the sight of him, immediately going on guard. 

“What the hell are you doing here?”

Kurt shrugs, “I heard Quinn lived here now.”

“Well. She does.” Mercedes acquieuses, “But what does that have to do with  _ you?” _

“I’m making this a sleepover,” Kurt holds up an industrial sized bag of peanut butter cups, which makes Mercedes raise an eyebrow, “You should let me in; these are Quinn’s favourite.”

Mercedes glares, but opens the door to let him in, “Don’t make me regret this.”

Kurt smiles at her, taking a step in.

“She’s down the hall. We’re watching _ The Wiz _ … You can’t really miss it.” Mercedes shrugs.

Kurt nods and tiptoes down the hall, aiming to surprise Quinn, dangling the bag of peanut butter cups in the door frame and calling out, “Snack delivery!”

Quinn raises an eyebrow, “Kurt?”

Kurt reveals himself, smirk obvious, “No, I’m the delivery man.”

He throws the bag to Quinn, “Oh, these are my favourite.”

Kurt lays down on the couch next to her, “I know.”

“What are you doing here?” Quinn asks as she starts to rip into the bag, grabbing a cup and unwrapping it gracefully, “You never come over to my place.”

Kurt hums, “This isn’t your place though, is it? Anyway, I hate Puck, I hate Finn, and I most certainly hate your parents, so this is the best case scenario. You should live here all the time.”

Quinn grumbles, shoving the chocolate in her mouth, “Well, I guess that makes sense.”

“How’s the baby?”

Quinn shrugs, “Kicks. Presses on my bladder when I sleep. Kind of sucks, honestly, do you really want to hear about this?”

“How many times do I have to ask to be the godfather?”

Quinn slaps his arms as he laughs, “You know I’m giving her up.”

“Her, huh?” Kurt hums, “What are the name options?”

“Honestly?” Quinn purses her lips, “No clue.”

Mercedes walks in with a bag of microwavable popcorn, shaking it between their heads as she lays down on Quinn’s side, “Pass me one.”

Quinn looks at her, before passing her a peanut butter cup, watching as Mercedes promptly stuffs it in the still steaming popcorn bag, looking down at her chocolate creation with a grin.

Quinn gasps, “That’s a great idea.”

“I know right?” Mercedes aims the bag at Quinn, letting her take some, before Kurt, but he just shakes his hands.

“No way, Sue’d kill me.”

Quinn glares at him, grabbing some popcorn from the bag and shoving it in his hand forcefully, and Kurt just stares at the melted chocolate and popcorn in his hand mournfully. Mercedes snickers. 

“What were you guys talking about?” She asks.

“Baby names.” They reply back with a shrug.

“Hear me out,” Kurt starts, popping a piece of popcorn in his mouth, “Now, I  _ know  _ that this is a unique name, which is why it’s perfect for the Fabraby, so I’d like to propose Kurtina.”

Quinn’s eyes pop at him, “God no.”

“Kurttany?”

“I’m not naming my child after you!”

Kurt simpers at her, “Why not? I’m a great influence.”

“Because it’s stupid?” Quinn laughs, throwing popcorn at him, which he fishes from his shirt and eats casually, “It’s better than Drizzle.”

“Why are you considering Drizzle?” Kurt asks, stunned, “That’s an awful name.”

“I didn’t consider it, that was Finn’s idea.” 

Kurt looks off, slightly disgusted, “He was dropped on his head as a child.”

Quinn slaps his arm, but laughs at him, which makes him smile.

“What’s Puck’s idea?” Mercedes says through a mouthful of popcorn.

Quinn frowns, “None, yet. His mom was telling me to call it ‘a good, strong Hebrew name’.”

“If he has any say in it, he’d call her ‘Puckette’.” Kurt rolls his eyes.

“And Kurttany is any better?” Mercedes drawls.

Kurt sniffs, “It’s a lovely name.”

The conversation runs off naturally, the three of them enjoying the film playing, surprisingly comfortable with each other’s presence, despite the previous tension between all of them in the past few months… and years, in some regards. It’s nice, in a way that Kurt’s life usually isn’t. He doesn’t get this kind of intimate hangout with Quinn often - her parents hate him, and he hates them right back. They don’t quite to know what to make of him - he’s pretty sure on first glance they hated him for being effeminate and, well,  _ gay _ , but apparently news of him having sex with girls got back to them, and suddenly he wasn’t allowed alone with Quinn in the house.  _ Fat load of good that did her _ , Kurt thinks bitterly. 

When Mercedes leaves after the film has ended, returning to the kitchen to put their trash away, Quinn turns to him with a thoughtful look, “Why did we never get together?”

Kurt laughs suddenly, but shakes his hands to know it’s not maliciously, “Are you kidding me? You’d eat me alive!”

Quinn frowns, “I’m not that mean.”

“Um, you kind of  _ are _ , Quinn.” Kurt explains through small chuckles, “I don’t mind it.”

Quinn moves her face into his shoulder, “You would’ve at least used a condom.”

Kurt makes little gagging noises, “No! Quinn, stop thinking about us having sex - Oh god, now I’m thinking about it.”

She giggles into his shoulder.

“Quinn, I love you, as a  _ friend _ , but I like my heart inside of my body - preferably beating.”

“I like that too, surprisingly.” Quinn mumbles, “Despite how much you kind of suck.”

Kurt has an innuendo for that, but won’t say it right now - maybe repeat it to Blaine at a later date with a smirk. He just grabs Quinn’s head and kisses the top of her braided hair with a fond smile. 

\---

“Don’t run.” Santana warns as she bounds up the bleachers, pushing Rachel down by the shoulder as she immediately tries to stand up to avoid her, “It’s truth time. And fuck, do I hate truth time with you, Berry.”

Rachel sniffs, “You don’t have to. You can let me leave.”

“Nope,” Santana shrugs, “Can’t do that. I’ve gotta speak my truth right  _ now _ .”

Rachel pouts as Santana sits down next to her, keeping an arm across her lap to keep her to the seat as Santana chooses to pour over her words thoughtfully. 

“What’s your truth?”

Santana sighs, “I’m sorry.”

“Huh?”

“Don’t make me repeat it.” Santana grumbles, “Seriously, has all that screeching you do given you tinnitus or something? Listen when I tell you things.”

“You’re sorry?” 

“Okay, you’re gloating now.” Santana glares, but at least Rachel doesn’t have that look on her face like someone shot her puppy in front of her. 

Rachel frowns, “I’m not, I just don’t know what you’re sorry about.”

Santana sighs, “About Jesse. Seriously, do you think I sit around exercising my gift of prophecy hoping that everything goes to shit for you?”

Rachel opens her mouth, but Santana shakes her head threateningly.

She promptly closes it.

“What he did was shitty, and I’m allowed to, from my completely unbiased point of view that I often have, feel bad for you.” Santana explains.

Rachel looks at her, a little confused but also a little grateful, “Thanks, Santana.”

“Now, if you tell anyone that I’m feeling sorry for something, I’m going to create a voodoo doll of you and then proceed to stick pins in it.” Santana glares, “ _ Everywhere _ .”

Rachel just squeaks, and pushes Santana’s arm off without much resistance and scuttling off without much fanfare. Santana lies back on the seat and sighs pleasantly. Everything’s coming up Santana.


	20. Theatricality

For some reason, when Kurt came home, there was a platter of food in the middle of his bedroom, and his dad puttering over it, looking worried. He explained that they were going to have a housewarming party for Finn and Carole, and he wanted it to be some fun. Kurt wanted to push it a little more, throw a tantrum, but he just threw his bag down with a sigh and started to work on laying out the crackers. That was then, and now that Finn and Carole are here sampling Lima’s deli’s finest, it’s a little stifling. 

His room is pretty big, considering it’s an entire basement and all, but that doesn’t mean he’s interested in throwing entire parties in it with two guys who could probably take a hit from a Yaris.

“This room is way too small for you  _ and  _ Finn.” Kurt mutters into his flute of non-alcoholic champagne, leaning into his dad’s side, “And that table, god. Ghastly.”

Burt perks up at him, which is not Kurt’s preferred reaction at all, “That reminds me.”

“Of what?”

Burt rustles through his wallet, before pulling out a handful of bills, “Finn, since it’s gonna be a while till I can prepare your own room for you, how’s this gonna work to, uh, well you get settled in?”

“Wait, what?” Kurt rushes forwards, pushing the hand down that’s offering Finn the money, “Settled in? Where? In the lounge?”

Burt chuckles, “No, kiddo. Sharing a room.”

“My room?” Kurt rushes out, staring at the room around him in a huff.

“The one we’re in right now, yep.”

Finn gasps, “What? We can’t share a room. Look, Burt, I’m not cool with that, seriously.”

Burt wiggles the money at him, “Don’t be so negative - both of you. Maybe once you get this room, you two will see there’s nothin’ to be afraid of. Look, and I’m givin’ you all this money to redecorate, you should be yanking it from my hands with a smirk.”

Finn stares at him, mouth agape, “I-”

Kurt yanks the money out of his hands with a smirk, idea set in place, and shoves it in his pockets, “Obviously since Finn can’t take leadership, as per usual, I’ll have to do it.”

He turns a determined glare on Finn, smiling cruelly, “Welcome, roomie.”

\---

“You were right.” 

Blaine turns around to see Rachel, looking a little gloomy, “Right about what?”

She pouts, “My mom. She’s not… She’s not a Broadway legend.”

Blaine startles, mouth agape, “You found her?”

“She’s the coach for Vocal Adrenaline.” Rachel frowns, “She’s just another… Lima loser, I guess… I mean, she’s amazing… she’s a great singer… and she has that iconic Berry performing gene, but she’s still stuck here, right? She’s not a star like I expected. Or, well,  _ wanted  _ her to be.”

Blaine rubs Rachel’s shoulder, “Sometimes things don’t go the way we want them to go, Rachel. But, you know, we’ve seen Vocal Adrenaline… intimately… and honestly? They’re amazing. You don’t think that’s being a star, even if it is in Lima?”

Rachel sighs, “I guess so.”

She pouts a little, “Now I have to deal with my ex being the star of Vocal Adrenaline, and my mom being the coach… This isn’t like betrayal, is it? Oh god. It so is. Santana’s going to kill me, and she was actually being nice recently.”

Blaine laughs and rubs her arms a bit, “Hey, no. Look, you can’t help your genes, Rachel. Santana’s not going to kill you because you happen to be related to someone.”

“She scares me… but don’t tell her that. I think she smells weakness.” Rachel whispers to him, voice a little frail and obviously afraid. “Like a shark smells blood in the water.”

“I  _ think _ you’ll be fine, Rachel.” Blaine smiles, “So, what are you going to do for the Gaga assignment?”

\---

When Quinn is shoved into a locker, albeit gentler than Santana’s ever seen on the battlefields of McKinley’s corridors, it’s like her version turns red. All she sees is those stupid hockey freaks, and feeling steam pool out of her ears in puffy clouds.

She rushes forward and screams, “What the  _ fuck  _ is wrong with the both of you?”

“Sorry, dyke, we don’t speak lesbo.” Azimio laughs, “You’re the wrong one here.”

“Are you brain damaged?” Santana huffs, “No, seriously, it’s an actual question. You know she’s fucking pregnant right?”

“What, you got a crush or something, Lopez?” Karofsky laughs in her face, “Hey, Quinn, I know you’re a total loser now, but don’t you think it’s super gross that the lesbian  _ likes  _ you?”

Santana grits her teeth, shoving Karofsky back from her, which makes him immediately turn to glare at her, “Oh, you’re fucking in for it now, Lopez. I’m sick of you parading around this school like you own it now that you’re wearing that stupid fucking uniform, I’m not scared of  _ you  _ or  _ Sue _ , especially if you’re tryna shove  _ me  _ around now.”

“You can shove me all around all you fucking want, you fucking ape, I’m not going to quit being a lesbian because of it, and I’m sure as hell not going to stop thinking I’m better than you, because the universe practically  _ screams _ it at me every time I walk into this fucking dump.” Santana shouts, and Karofsky raises a fist at her, which she stares at, a little afraid, but keeps her expression stony.

“What the hell is going on here?” Sue shouts, obviously recognizing the Cheerio uniform in a confrontation off to the side, stomping forward and pushing the two apart, “Ellen, what a surprise, and the two hockey numbskulls I suddenly can’t remember the name of. Don’t you kids have  _ class _ , or is that suddenly an abstract concept in this school?”

Karofsky grunts, but brushes Sue’s hand off his chest and stalks off with Azimio in tow, glaring threateningly over his shoulder at Santana as he turns the corner. 

“Everybody, get to class.” Sue shouts, “Ellen, I’d just like to inform you that your little showdown in the middle of the hallway interrupted my glory hours where I watch my own choreography on repeat for three hours and pat myself on the back. I’ve gotten people life sentences for much less.”

Santana glares at her, “Well, sorry to interrupt, Coach.”

“You’re on thin ice, Missy,” Sue grunts, before stomping back to her office with a furious expression. Santana sighs, before glancing at Quinn, who’s looking both stunned and a little struck. 

“Are you okay?” Santana bounds over, hesitating to touch her, but Quinn just shakes her head.

“Y-yes,” Quinn’s voice comes out a little high and breathy, “I’m fine. Thank you.”

Santana smiles at her, “Well, I guess that’s good.”

“Y-yeah.” Quinn smiles back.

\---

Kurt stops Quinn on the way out with Mercedes, grabbing her wrist, and smiling at the two of them, “Hi, Mercedes, can I steal Quinn for a second?”

“Uh, I guess.” Mercedes replies, eyebrows raised, “But you should be ask-”

“Thanks!” Kurt pulls Quinn back into the school, and in the nearest girls’ bathroom, completely empty despite the free period, and when they finally stop, he immediately glares at her.

“What?”

“So, I heard what happened in the hallways today.” 

“You did?” Quinn rubbed her wrist, with a frown, “I didn’t get hurt, I’m fine.”

Kurt stares at her, “I know. Santana saved you.”

“She’s nice.”

“I know. Because she likes you.” 

Quinn frowns at him, “I… get that. I know, really. Are you another person that’s just going to give me shit because a lesbian likes me?”

“No, actually,” Kurt replies, leaning on the sink, “I’m here to tell you to shut her down now, because I know that, right now, you’re just milking her affection for you.”

Quinn immediately gapes, “Kurt, I am not doing that!”

“No, you are, I know how you think.” 

“Don’t you ever consider that maybe I actually like her?” Quinn shouts, before realizing what she admitted to, and frowning at him, “Maybe I’m a lesbian… or b-bi… or something.”

“I don’t doubt you like her, Quinn,” Kurt sighs, “I doubt that you actually like her to be her girlfriend. Can you honestly see yourself in a long-term relationship with her? Loving her like you would Finn or Puck?”

Quinn hesitates, “I could… figure it out.”

Kurt rubs her shoulder, “Quinn, I’m not going to let you sit here and take this girl’s first kiss from her,  _ or  _ her first relationship from her. You  _ can’t  _ use her as an experiment.”

Quinn stares at him with wet eyes, sniffling, “Why would you even care? You take girl’s virginities all the time. It’s not even fair. You of all people  _ can’t  _ get mad at me for this.”

Kurt squints at her, “What, do you think this is a competition? Who can break the most girl’s hearts?”

Quinn stays silent, obviously too ashamed to speak, head lowered and arms held tight to her body. 

Kurt purses his lips, “Well, I’m considering this my final,  _ friendly  _ warning. But seriously, Quinn, if you go through with this, you’re going to break the heart of the only person who truly, honestly wants to bat for you, you know this, right?”

Quinn stares up at him through wet eyelashes, “I  _ love  _ her, I do.”

“But not in the way she loves you.”

\---

Santana doesn’t hate Gaga. Honestly, she’s good pop music, and there’s no shame in admitting she might have most of her songs on her iPod in her playlist she listens to on the bus. Well, now when she walks home, but still. This performance of ‘Bad Romance’ is badass, she even gets a solo and everything!  _ And  _ her outfit looks awesome - she had Mercedes’ illustrious help of course. She honestly hasn’t had this much fun since Madonna week. 

After the performance ends, Santana stays back, just breathing, before she hears the sound of heels moving across the stage, and she looks over to see Quinn, and smiles, just a little bit.

“What are you doing back here?” She asks.

Quinn breathes steadily, “I could say the same for you… but I, uh, dropped one of my hoops.”

Santana eyes widen, before she smiles at the piece of silver wrapped around one of her heels, and picks it up, “There it is.”

Quinn moves forward a little bit, reaching to grab it from Santana’s outstretched hands, “I want to thank you properly, Santana… for helping out today, in the hallways.”

“Those neanderthals had it coming,” She grumbles, “They treat everyone like crap.”

“You did that because of me, though, right?” Quinn stresses, trying to stare into her eyes. The openness makes Santana feel a little ill. 

Santana rubs at her outfit nervously, “Well, yeah, you’re pregnant. Kinda… messed up to throw around a pregnant girl.”

Quinn puts a gentle hand on Santana’s arm, the warmth obvious even through the lace, their eyes locking in the bright lights of the auditorium, “You have a good heart, Santana. You’re… honestly, like no one I’ve ever met.”

“Well, you’ve obviously not met many p-” Okay, wow. There are lips on hers. Santana is so stunned she barely kisses back for the first few seconds, but then realizes what’s happening, where she is, and concludes that she’s either dreaming or getting some kind of ultimate karma to make up for all the shitty things she’s had to deal with for the last two years. Nothing, and she seriously means  _ nothing _ , has ever felt as right as this. There are moments that she wonders if she’s truly lesbian, or just disgusted with humanity as a whole, but kissing another girl, and one she’s actually in love with is like  _ nothing  _ else. It wasn’t like this with Blaine, this is so all-consuming, so… perfect. She’s so lost in it, she doesn’t even care that Quinn’s dress digs awkward into her legs, or her inch-long eyelashes scrape across her face, she just cares that it’s  _ Quinn _ , but then, it ends before it even starts. 

Quinn pulls away, looking into her eyes, a little scared and a little stunned, before turning away immediately, rushing off the stage. Santana watches her leave with a stunned expression, brushing her fingers softly against her lips, trying not to smile. Quinn must just be upset, because it’s not everyday you kiss someone of the same sex, and figure out that you’re maybe attracted to girls (or just Santana). She wouldn’t kiss someone she doesn’t care about.

Quinn isn’t  _ like  _ that.

She’s like Santana.

It makes her a little giddy to think so.

\---

Kurt turns the page of his magazine slowly, obviously hearing Finn bounding down the stairs, but making no move to get up and greet him. He’s in the middle of an article about fish pedicures, and he’s pretty invested, so when Finn drops off the last step, he just coughs politely to himself. 

“The room…” 

“It looks good, doesn’t it?” Kurt remarks, “Thank you, I think so as well. I remodeled it early this year.”

Finn shakes his head, “What the hell, dude? Where the hell am I meant to sleep?”

Kurt looks at him innocently, before gesturing to his armchair, “You can fit on that, can’t you?”

“What? No!” Finn huffs, throwing his bag down, “What the hell did you do with the money? I thought you were going to redecorate!”

“Well,” Kurt shrugs, “I did, kinda.”

He gets up, and pulls out a bag of dried apple slices he bought with his dad’s loaned money, the  _ only  _ thing he bought, “Want some?”

Finn immediately knocks the bag out of his hands, eyes glinting, and apple slices scatter across his fur rug, which makes him weep, “Are you freaking insane?”

“You didn’t want to move in here as much as I wanted you to, so why are you yelling at me?” Kurt grumbles, putting his hands on his hips.

“Because I still expect you to actually try and lift a damn finger to make it a little better?” Finn shouts, “I know you don’t like me, but when I get home after training, I still want a damn room to come back to!”

“You’re in the damn room! So shut up about it!”

“This isn't my damn room, it’s yours. It doesn’t even have a bed for me!” Finn pulls at his own hair, “God, why would I even want to sleep in this place? Your room is just so…  _ gay!” _

His chest feels like he’s got the breath knocked out of him, before he immediately narrows his eyes, voice turning cold and sarcastic, “Well, if I’m so gay, then why did I have sex with Rachel?”

Finn stops his stomping around, and turns to glare at him, “What?”

Kurt smiles at him, “I had sex with Rachel. Too bad that the guy with the gay room got in there before you, huh?”

Finn’s mouth screws up, and his eyes go hard, “You… Fuck!”

One minute he’s standing up straight, hands on his hips, and then he’s on the floor with the back of his head stinging and slumped against his dresser. He reaches up to his hair shakily, barely aware of his limbs, trying to check the damage, and hands come back clean, but he still feels a little ill. The products on top of the dresser topple on the floor, his cologne breaking and spilling across the hardwood. Distantly, he’s a little upset, because it was like fifty bucks and he had to order it online because the nearest store that sells it is in fucking Columbus. He looks up at Finn through a vision visibly swimming with tears, but he looks ashamed, immediately sobering from his anger. 

“I-”

“What the hell is going down here?” Burt’s voice calls from the top of the stairs, and Finn goes completely white. When his dad notices him on the floor, it’s like his vision visibly turns red with anger. 

“Burt,” Finn’s voice turns quiet, “Look, it was an accident. I was just upset-”

“You pushing my son around?” Burt interrupts harshly, “In my own damn  _ home _ ?”

“He had sex with my girlfriend!”

“She’s your ex.” Kurt mutters.

Burt immediately turns to glance at Kurt on the floor, who looks ashamed, but returns his gaze onto Finn, obviously not impressed by the excuse.

“You think that it’s okay to push him around?” Burt replies with a no nonsense attitude, “What, so everytime you’re mad, you’re going to beat him up? Because I don’t appreciate that behaviour, even if he does…  _ that _ , with your girlfriend.”

Finn immediately clams up, “Sir, no, seriously, I’m not angry like this all the time, I-I’m…”

“How am I meant to trust you when you say that even though my  _ son’s  _ on the floor?” Burt shouts, before sighing and rubbing his head under his cap, “Look, I think you need to go home a-and cool off, or  _ something _ . I need to think about this. I love your mom, but if you’re going to treat my  _ family _ like this, I don’t know if I want you in this house.”

Finn wrings his hands, but just nods in response jerkily, grabbing his bag and running up the stairs two at a time. Kurt buries his wet eyes into his knees.

Burt grumbles, “I’m not done with you either, kid. What the hell were you thinking?”

Kurt doesn’t reply.

Burt just sighs, and comes to kneel down next to him, hands moving his head around and trying to look at the damage, “You don’t feel concussed or anything? Seeing two or somethin’?”

“No.” Kurt mutters.

“Probably just a bump then.” Burt brushes over Kurt’s hair gently as he lets him go. There’s the sound of Burt sitting on the bed across from him, “Were you lying, when you told Finn you… did  _ that  _ with his girlfriend?”

“Ex-girlfriend.”

“Fine, ex.”

Kurt is silent for a moment, “Maybe.”

“So, that’s a no then.” Burt grunts, before sighing immediately, “So, what, all those times, you were tellin’ me you’re at Blaine’s, is that just lies? Covering up for going out with some random girl?”

Kurt jerks up, mouth turned down, “No, I-I’m not. I promise Dad, I’m with Blaine, really. Before Rachel, I hadn’t even been with a girl since freshman year.”

Burt immediately winces, “This has been going on since freshman year?”

Kurt looks chastised, “I didn’t mean to say that.”

They’re both silent for a few moments. 

“Are you at least using protection?”

Kurt glances at him, frowning, “Yeah.”

“Well.” Burt stands up, obviously a little shaken up, “I guess that’s really all I can hope for. But, Kurt?”

“Yeah?”

Burt grimaces, “I would’ve hoped I coulda had this talk with you in a few months, or years, I don’t even care anymore. I just… Look, sex, it’s gonna change you kid. It does something to you, so… Don’t go throwing yourself around… because you  _ matter,  _ Kurt. You need to act like it.”

Kurt immediately starts tearing up again, but hides his face in his knees again as he starts to cry, voice obviously wet as he replies, “I know, Dad.”

“And you’re grounded for a month.”

“What?” Kurt mumbles through a faceful of tears, “Why?”

Burt stares at him levelly, “For lyin’ to me. I don’t know when exactly, but if you’re off gallivanting with random girls, it’s gotta have happened at least once.”

\---

Santana feels like she’s on cloud nine. Sure, she hasn’t seen Quinn since yesterday, but it's not unusual. She’s having a sexuality crisis, probably, so Santana will give her time, and then they can go back to being the best relationship in Glee, hopefully. So, when Puck decides to serenade Quinn with some stupid rock song - all of the boys, really - it’s a little insulting. 

It’s even more insulting the more Quinn seems to get genuinely touched by it, gaze stuck on his performance, a little starry-eyed and warm. She looks… touched. She starts crying, which makes Santana glare at the rest of them. When Puck finishes, talking about wanting to be there for the baby and Quinn’s just nodding, with tears in her eyes, not sparing anyone else a second glance and Santana feels disgusted. For some reason, it’s seriously hitting her. They’re having a  _ child  _ together. She’s seriously just a distraction.

She gets up suddenly, heart beating out of her chest, a quiet thump-thump-thump as the rest of the class turns to look at her, before she runs out. Nobody runs out after her.

\---

“Hey, lesbo.” Azimio shouts from the end of the hall, gaining on her as she tries to waddle off in her high heels, and slamming her to the wall, knocking her breath out from her chest. “My friend and I are happy to see you alone.”

Santana tries not to cry, “Fuck, fine. You want to hit me? I don’t have anything to fucking lose at this point, do I? You can punch and kick and spit and  _ whatever _ , but I’m not going to stop loving girls. You get that right?”

“Oh, so we  _ can  _ hit you, is that right?” Azimio laughs bitterly, before gesturing to her, “Why don’t you start us off, Karofsky?”

Karofsky stares at her, eyes glinting, lifting his fist threateningly. She shudders as she closes her eyes, cursing out her entire life all within a few moments.

“Stop.” A female voice calls.

Azimio immediately laughs, “Fabray, like we care what you’ve got to say. Just another dyke now, huh? You seriously in love with this lesbo?”

“She’s my  _ friend _ ,” Quinn shouts.

“She’s all of our friends,” Rachel mutters, and the rest of the glee club follows in her stead, coming up behind them like some afternoon special. Rachel meets Santana’s eyes, “Even if she doesn’t want us as friends.”

“Well, shit. We know when we’re outnumbered,” Azimio rolls his eyes, “Fine, we have friends too, losers. Watch your back.”

They both shove past the group, the boys glaring after them. The girls rush forward to check if Santana’s okay. She just ignores the rest of them and falls into Mercedes’ warm arms. 

“Look, this is cute and all,” Santana sighs to herself, “But can we just go back to practice?”

Mercedes laughs a little, walking together with Santana down the corridor. Quinn taps her shoulder, and looks at her with apologetic eyes.

“I’m sorry.”

Santana bitterly looks off to the side, and doesn’t reply.

\---

“Look,” Finn mutters, kicking at the dirt underneath his feet, “I’m sorry for shoving you over… and I guess, calling your room gay. It wasn’t cool of me. Obviously, considering how much shit Santana gets just for being, well, gay.”

Kurt stops in his tracks, the car park all but empty except for the last few remaining Glee members. They all look like freaks - but in a good way. He’s dressed in his Cheerio uniform, because he’d rather die than dress like a KISS member, and he sure as hell isn’t going to be caught dead in this school in a Gaga outfit, even if he wanted to. Considering the little display of manly prowess today with Santana and the puckheads, he’s almost sure he’d turn up dead if he even tried. Santana isn’t even ‘obnoxiously’ lesbian, and she still can get almost-gaybashed just for existing. What the hell would happen to Kurt if he actually…

Well, he doesn’t want to think about it.

“I accept your apology.” Kurt mutters, “I’m… sorry for not buying you a bed. And, I suppose, having sex with Rachel.”

Finn sighs a little, “Why’d you do it?”

“Do what?”

“Have sex with her.” He shrugs, hands in his pockets, “You don’t even like her, do you?”

Kurt purses his lips, “No. I don’t.”

“Did you do it just to hurt me?” Finn’s voice turns miserable.

Kurt smiles at him bitterly, “I don’t think you want the answer.”

Finn just frowns at him, something disappointed and obviously upset, “I don’t know why you hate me so much, but, you know, I actually  _ like  _ Burt. And I don’t want to mess this up for my mom. So, can we just… truce? Please?”

Kurt stares at his outstretched hand, a little stunned, “Why would you want to?”

Finn shrugs, shaking his hand a little, “Look, I’m not doing it for us. I’m doing it for my mom, and I guess, your dad too. You want him to be happy, though, don’t you?”

“I guess so.” Kurt sighs, and shakes Finn’s hand gently, “Fine, truce.”

Finn smiles at him, a little tired, before nodding to himself, “Alright, cool.”

“I… I gotta go now. Blaine’s probably waiting in the car…” Kurt mumbles, mind a little fuzzy, “If he stays in there any longer in the hot sun, he might suffocate and... he doesn’t know how to unwind the windows.”

Finn looks worried, before pushing him forward by the shoulders, “I don’t want him to die, dude, you should probably go and figure it out for him.”

When Kurt unlocks the door, Blaine looks up at him from his magazine laid across his lap, “Why’d you take so long?”

Kurt stares stunned at the wheel, “I think I just witnessed Finn Hudson actually showing some leadership qualities for once.”

\---

Santana walks into Glee, expressing her true theatricality. She knows she probably looks a little goofy - feathered hair, sequined pantsuit, both things her mama helped her with, gleeful and insistent - and the reactions from the rest of the club only reaffirms it. It’s like an enclosure of hippos with how low their jaw drops at the sight of her. 

“I know theatricality week is basically over, but I still have something I’d like to perform.” Santana says, hands clasped in front of her.

Schue gestures casually, “Go ahead.”

“Actually,” Santana smiles bitterly, “I have it ready entirely in the auditorium.”

\---

“It was a good song choice.” 

Santana doesn’t even have to turn around to see who it is, but she still looks in the reflection in the mirror, seeing Quinn standing awkwardly behind her. She puts down the hair straightener. 

“It’s theatrical.”

Quinn smiles bitterly, “But somehow, I think it’s completely how you feel.”

“Yep.” Santana stares at the table, “ _ So, the winner takes it all and the loser has to fall. _ And, well, I’m the loser.”

Quinn sits down next to her, not leaning in like she usually would, bodies far apart, which she aches at, but still takes comfort in, “I treated you really badly, Santana. And I apologize for that.”

“I’m really upset.” Santana’s voice goes a little weak, “It’s dumb of me, isn’t it?”

“No, it’s not, it’s my fault for doing that to you.”

“No, it’s my own damn fault for being upset.” She smiles bitterly at Quinn, “You’d think after all that, I’d love you any less. But fuck, I still love you. I’m so fucking pathetic.”

Quinn goes silent at the confession, lip quivering a little bit at her, before she bites it still, “I wish I could feel it back.”

“People warned me you were straight.” Santana laughs, thinking of Rachel, “They told me not to bother, that you’d never love me back. Fuck, why does everyone else get to be right for once except for me?”

Quinn’s eyes go pitiful, “I’m sorry, Santana.”

“Can you leave?” Santana’s voice goes hard, but when Quinn sits up straight, flinching, she turns apologetic, eyes soft, “I need to be alone.”

Quinn nods softly, walking off, and Santana watches her in the mirror reflection, until she disappears into the shadows. There’s flaws in the mirror, small divots in the reflection, shallow scratches from who knows where and she could take a coin to them and dig them in further, if she really wanted to. She could take one of the paper weights from Sue’s office and smash it til it shattered. It wouldn’t even make her feel better, though, just leave her with that sinking feeling that she destroyed something she never even had in the first place.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> songs i utilized in a (hopefully) effective manner  
> the winner takes it all - abba (THE FACT they didnt give this to one of the og glee club members... evil, evil.)
> 
> i should probably mention that i actually AM an active subscriber to the lesbian!quinn theory but if the shoe fits yknow


	21. Journey to Regionals

After Glee practice, Santana is suddenly accosted by Mercedes, who immediately goes to wrap her arms around her with wet eyes. She’s a little stunned, but still moves to hug her back.

“Hey, what’s this for?”

Mercedes pulls back with a sad smile, “Since Sue’s judging, we’ll probably lose for real this time. I, just, I’m really happy this club happened. Just for you, y’know?”

Santana almost tears up a little at her words, “Hey, I’m thankful for you too.”

Moments pass, them quietly smiling at each other, before Tina runs up to rope them both in a hug, making pitiful sobbing noises as she holds them both to her shoulder, “I’m really going to miss the both of you.”

“We aren’t dying, Tina.” Santana replies dryly.

“Yeah, but, we’re not gonna be all hanging out like this.” She sobs into her neck, “It won’t be the same when everything goes back to normal.”

Mercedes hugs an arm around her, “We’re not gonna change, Tina, we’ll always be besties.”

Tina pulls back from them both with wet eyes, “I’m really thankful I met you guys.”

Santana’s shocked, because they seriously haven’t spoken much  _ at all _ since the start of the year, but somehow, she gets it. They’re all going to be irrelevant once the club ends, and the reformed members like Finn and Puck are going back to go to slushying them, but her, Mercedes and Tina… One another is seriously all they have in this stupid school. 

Trying not to think too hard about it, Santana wraps Tina up in another hug, pushing her face in her hair, before feeling Mercedes' arms wrap around both of their waists. They stand like that - arms wrapped around each other, for the next few minutes, sturdy, quiet and comforting. 

\---

Santana finishes the performance breathing heavily, letting Mercedes wrap her fingers around her hand, and pulling her off stage together. They both watch the audience as they walk away, lines upon lines of people who all came to watch them perform. It’s a little dizzying to be in front of so many people. There was a finality to that last note that she’ll never feel again. She’s upset, but she’s also accepted that maybe this is the last she’ll ever be up on that stage again. She’s, surprisingly, okay with that. She has other things to look forward to.

\---

Well, the excitement certainly got to Quinn, because immediately after the performance, she gave birth to her new baby girl called Beth, ironically enough. Santana feels like she should curse out the name, considering all the pain that stupid song brought her, but she doesn’t feel up to it. She’s just a baby, she’s got enough problems with Puck as her father as it is. Santana won’t let her deal with her baggage too.

She’s sitting in the hospital waiting room silently, she hasn’t said much for most of the night, besides singing. Santana’s been letting the adrenaline move her, and she imagines by the end of the night, she’ll be feeling that bone-deep tired and energy crash that happens every time she performs and falling asleep on the bus ride home. She’s mostly people watching now, new mothers a lot older than them waddling around in hospital gowns, and the occasional hurried nurse or panicking father. The rest of Glee club isn’t saying much, besides a few quiet conversations, before Puck walks out of Quinn’s room, his shoulders hunched.

He steps in front of her, head down, “She asked for you.”

“Quinn?”

“Who else?” He snarks gruffly, before shaking his head apologetically, “Sorry. Didn’t mean that.”

Santana doesn’t push it, just gives him her chair as she pushes into the room with a blank expression.

“Hey mom.” Santana greets.

Quinn smiles tiredly at her, “I can’t get used to that.”

Santana shrugs, “No clue on the adoptive mother yet?”

She just shakes her head, “No, I don’t want to know either. It’ll hurt too much.”

“Makes sense,” Santana nods tiredly, “Why’d you call me in here?”

Quinn smiles a little, “You’re so… to the point.”

“That’s me.”

“It’s nothing interesting.” Quinn sighs, “I just wanted to see you. Even… if you didn’t want to see me… Did… Did you want to see me?”

“I…” Santana’s shoulders drop tiredly. There’s the adrenaline crash. “I’m always going to want to see you, you’re Quinn Fabray. You’re, like, a teenage badass.”

Quinn chuckles weakly, “I’m not.”

“Bullshit,” Santana laughs, “Don’t play the modesty game. It  _ seriously  _ doesn’t suit you. How many teenage girls would go through an entire pregnancy, just to give up their baby at the end? You’re pretty strong.”

“Kurt made me realize something,” Quinn sighs, “I’m… I used you, Santana, for attention. Does that scream strong to you?”

Santana drops her head a little bit, the words sting, but they aren’t exactly killing her inside, “Look, I know you want me to cuss you out while you’re recuperating in bed, or whatever, but I’m not going to. I think you have this idea that I’m only good to have around because I’m going to be up your ass like the rest of those morons in that school, but you know that’s not at all true. I’m giving you your credit, I think you’re awesome, but I’m not afraid to tell you when you’re being a bitch.”

Santana looks off to the side casually, “For example, Fabray, if you go back to the Cheerios with your tail between your legs, giving a middle finger to Glee club as you leave, I’m going to drop a cement block on your feet.” 

“Well, I need my feet, so I guess I won’t then.” Quinn laughs weakly.

“I keeps it reals.”

Quinn sighs softly, resting her hand on Santana’s over the covers, “You and Mercedes are like, my best friends now, so, y'know, I guess I’ll keep you around. Even if… I can’t like you back.”

Santana laughs, squeezing Quinn’s hands, “You’re one of my best friends too.”

They look at each other shyly, before the door is pushed openly gently, revealing Schue on the phone, holding a hand over the receiver, “They’re announcing the results now, guys.”

They nod in understanding, and Santana helps Quinn out of the bed, leading her out with their hands still twined. When they're out into the lobby, Will turns his phone on speaker, and Mercedes grabs Santana’s hand in a fuss. 

“ _ And now, _ ” Sue’s voice fritzs over the phone speaker, “ _ Your 2010 Midwest Regional Show Choir Champions, Vocal Adrenaline _ !”

Mercedes’ hand pulls tight, and Quinn’s lets go completely. Santana’s almost tired to cry. 

\---

Santana’s way too depressed to even be in the choir room, knowing the likelihood of even coming back here is slim to none. It’s like waiting for the guillotine coming to chop your head off. The silver glints above her menacingly. Mercedes’ been lounging on her for almost the entire session, waiting for Mr. Schue to come in to spout some boring, meaningless platitudes about how life goes on. But it doesn’t even matter at the end of the day, she’s going to come back next year just to get her ass kicked, and this time, she won’t even have anything to look forward to after school. She’s happy she made friends, but she’s still going to miss the club as a whole.

He walks in with his hands clasped, and the club barely perks up at his existence. He’s completely silent before saying, “We got another year.”

“What?” They all sit up straight together.

“Come on, we got another year!” 

The group immediately jump up, Santana turning to Mercedes to hug her close to her chest, and Tina reaching over the chairs to fall into the hug with tears in her eyes. The rest of the club reacts similarly, in a way that even surprises her. Quinn runs over to hug her while pulling away with a bounce in her step, rushing Mercedes with her arms outstretched. Blaine hugs her from behind, before rushing off to pull Rachel into a hug, which then causes her to notice Santana and similarly, pull her into a hug. She’s too excited to even care that she’d rather die than hug Rachel, of all people, but she’s just  _ that  _ happy. 

Junior year might not even suck that much.

\---

Kurt’s driving, as per usual, because the moment he turned 16, he immediately applied for a license. There’s no buses that go near Blaine’s place, and he also hates walking home. It’s a win for everyone. Blaine’s in the passenger seat, tapping along to the song on the radio with his head bopping and grin wide. They’ve all been on some sort of strange high, barely lucid, ever since they realized that the club would be renewed. Kurt didn’t expect to be this happy about it, he’s always thought of Glee club as this chore he  _ has  _ to do, but if you asked him why, he wouldn’t have much of an answer. It’s simply that he just  _ likes _ it. He likes the people in the club, he likes watching the performances, but the biggest reason is just he likes to be close to Blaine. That’s been most of his high school career honestly, whatever gets him the closest to Blaine, he’ll do unironically and without complaint. 

The song ends and the radio jockey introduces the next song with that chipper voice Kurt  _ hates,  _ but Blaine just squeals in an incredibly manly manner, turning the radio up and immediately singing along.

“- _ eah, Estelle, we 'bout to get down! Who the hottest in the world right now? Just touched down in London town!”  _ Blaine raps, in a way that makes Kurt blush with sheepish embarrassment and duck his head. 

When Estelle starts, he stops singing, staring at Kurt imploringly, and poking at him until he brushes him off with one hand, “What? What?”

“Sing!” Blaine pushes, laughing a little bit at him giddily.

Kurt tries to look exasperated, but decides to give in with a smirk and shakes his shoulders a little, “ _ Take me to New York, I'd love to see L.A. I really want to come kick it with you, you'll be my American boy!” _

They sing together with a smile, switching parts as expected, and harmonising together in a way that Kurt just  _ loves _ . They sound great together, and no one else gets to have this. Just them, it’s a  _ them _ thing. And they can’t take it away or ruin it, if no one else sees it. 

The song ends, and Blaine smiles at him, face breaking with the grin, as the radio starts to run advertisements. Kurt turns down the volume, making a split second decision, pulling off to the side of the road. It’s a relatively empty suburban street, and his windows are tinted, so whatever happens in this car, no one can even witness it. It’s  _ safe _ .

“Why’d we stop?” Blaine asks mildly.

Kurt breathes in deeply, before grabbing Blaine’s face in his hands and pulling him in for a quick kiss, chaste. It’s romantic, even.

He pulls away, and Blaine stares at his lips as they move apart, before glancing at Kurt’s face with a careful smile.

“What was that for?” He asks, breathily, smile widening.

Kurt shakes his head, “No reason.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you so much for reading!! 
> 
> season 2 will come... whenever i feel like im ready to post it <3 ... its very long so far so im going to hope that this au hasn't dragged on lol.


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